


The Sunlight Of Your Company

by bafflinghaze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Fluff, Living In the (almost) Wilderness, Living Together, M/M, Mentions of meat (food) preparation and consumption, Romance, Somewhat naive Harry Potter, Wood Chopping, exiled draco malfoy, forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/pseuds/bafflinghaze
Summary: Instead of Azkaban, Draco Malfoy is to be isolated in an unknown forest for a total of ten years. Every month, a new Auror is stationed in the cabin, ostensibly to keep an eye on him. It’s now Harry’s turn to be the Auror on duty.Harry has expectations on how his month will go, how weak Malfoy would be after six years away from civilisation, the pity Harry would feel for him. They might even settle into something friendly-like.Except, Harry should have realised that it wasMalfoy, and that things never went to plan when Malfoy was involved.July 2017: Translated into ChineseherebySamiChinese.





	1. Chapter 1

***

[Day 1]

The portkey only took Harry part of the distance. He then apparated to an outlying observation station. From there, Harry had to take a broom to fly over the dense forest. The cabin was easily spotted: it stood in a rare open clearing.

The ground was grassy and soft where Harry landed. He shrunk down the broom and headed towards the front door. In contrast to the deepening gloom of the surrounding forest, the wooden cabin was a lighter colour that caught the remaining light well.

Harry squared his shoulders and knocked briskly on the cabin door. But no one answered. Shoulders tensing, Harry tugged at the door handle.

It swung open. Harry glanced over his shoulder at the forest, before he entered the cabin, closing the door behind him.

The cabin was neat, with the slight disorderedness of occupancy. It had two bedrooms, one of which was particularly messy, a bathroom, and a combined kitchen-dining-living area with a small fireplace.

Harry frowned. There was no Draco Malfoy in sight.

The slightest creak of the front door had Harry drawing his wand in a flash. Harry stared, despite himself, at the person framed in the doorway.

“M-Malfoy!” Harry hurried to tuck his wand away and went for a casual friendly smile.

Malfoy held a basket overflowing with green things. His eyes widened briefly, then his face settled into a scowl. “Potter,” he said with barely a movement in his lips. He turned his head to the side and pulled the door shut behind him, latching the inside bolt.

Harry eased in his stance. “Malfoy,” he replied evenly. “I will be your presiding Auror for the next month.”

Malfoy didn’t reply. He temporarily placed the basket on the ground, tugged off his boots and put on some kind of indoor footwear. When Malfoy straightened, he gave Harry a disapproving look. He walked towards Harry; Harry tensed up.

“Take off your boots, please,” Malfoy said. He bypassed Harry in the little hallway and entered the kitchen.

Harry spun around, glaring at Malfoy’s back. “Why?” Harry said sharply.

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder. “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

Harry scowled harder at Malfoy’s posh tone. “ _Fine_ , then.” He drew his wand.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and turned towards him—

Harry shot Malfoy a smirk as he raised his wand and cast the strongest cleaning spell he could on the floors. The dirt instantly disappeared, and the wooden floors looked even cleaner now then when Harry had arrived. Harry crossed his arms. “Happy?”

Malfoy clenched his teeth. “Yes, _Auror_ Potter,” he said forcefully. Without another word, his arms tightened around his basket of greenery and he disappeared fully into the kitchen.

“Malfoy!” Harry started forward and entered the kitchen. Malfoy was lighting the stove with an old fashioned flint. “Where am I supposed to sleep?

Malfoy’s look was as flat as his tone. “The Auror’s bedroom is at the front of the cabin.”

“The messy one?” Harry blurted out.

“Is it my business how Aurors live?” Malfoy’s voice took a sharper, almost bitter edge. “And with that magic wand of yours, I’m sure you’ll be able to make it to your liking within a few seconds.”

Harry flushed angrily. “Fine.”

Malfoy’s mouth turned downward. He turned back to his task, whatever it was.

Harry stood at the doorway of the kitchen a moment longer. He decisively cast a monitoring spell along the hallway and headed to his room for the month.

*

It was fully dark outside his window when Harry smelt something wonderful—and his stomach rumbled. Eyes brightening, Harry headed out of his room and into the kitchen. His eyes immediately landed on the pot on the stove top.

“Dinner?” Harry asked. He took a few steps closer, watching as Malfoy ladled himself some stew into a bowl. “Where do you keep the bowls?”

“I thought Aurors had their own provisions,” Malfoy said tightly.

Harry shrugged—he went for a smile, and spoke casually, "Yeah, but that smells good. Can I have some?"

Malfoy’s mouth twitched and he presented the bowl in his hand to Harry. “Of course,” he drawled.

Harry took it, waiting patiently for Malfoy to retrieve a spoon for him. “Thanks, Malfoy,” Harry continued brightly.

Malfoy muttered something, but Harry didn’t catch it above the sound of his own footsteps as he walked towards the small square table. The table was set a bit away from the cooking area and its lamp, so Harry took out his wand and filled the room with light.

Malfoy did not join him at the table, but rather ate standing up, leaning against the kitchen bench. Harry opened his mouth, but shut it again when Malfoy gave him a dark look. Harry snorted to himself.

They ate silently. Malfoy finished first: he dropped his utensils in the sink and left. Harry was about to follow suit. After a moment of hesitation though, he did the dishes, chest a little tight with a guilt he couldn’t place.

***

[Day 2]

Malfoy woke up much too early.

Harry was groggy when his monitoring spell went off. The sky was _just_ starting to lighten, and none of the sunlight reached the cabin, really—only the dull reflected glow. His body was a tad sore from his trip, and he shivered despite the blankets. He could hear Malfoy walking around the cabin, and so Harry dragged himself out of bed and got himself dressed.

Harry neatened his Auror robes as he opened his door. Malfoy was almost exactly right there. Harry frowned.

Malfoy glared back. “You can’t stop me from going outside.”

The front door was just a few steps from Harry’s door. Malfoy very deliberately turned his back on Harry and pulled on his boots. He roughly opened the bolt and stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind him.

Harry grounded his teeth. “Clearly being polite is beyond you,” he muttered. He quickly went to the bathroom and produced an apple from his provisions. He put on his own boots and cast a strong warming charm before he stepped outside too.

With a _Point Me_ , it was easy for Harry to track Malfoy down through the cold, dense forest.

What Malfoy was doing, though, took Harry aback and made him stand a fair distance away from Malfoy.

Malfoy wielded a Muggle axe, and he brought it down in swinging, decisive arcs that bit and broke the branches. Then, he bundled the shortened, straightened branches together with rope and heft the entire thing over one shoulder.

Harry kept quiet as he followed Malfoy back to the clearing of the cabin. There, Malfoy spread out the branches near the fire pit. More than once, Harry opened his mouth, but he quickly closed it, shaking his head. It looked mostly harmless, at least.

Malfoy went back inside and Harry took off his boots after Malfoy gave him a disapproving look. In the kitchen, Malfoy started measuring out flour and cooking—and Harry recognised what he was doing.

“Pancakes?”

Malfoy curled his lip, but gave Harry a plate nonetheless. From the pantry, he took out a jar of jam.

It wasn’t any jam Harry had had before—it wasn’t _supermarket_ jam, nor Hogwarts jam. “No cream, Malfoy?”

“Do you see any cows out here, Auror Potter?” Malfoy said flatly. “Even if there where, I don’t have a clue how to turn milk into cream for your pancakes.”

Harry blinked. “Don’t they give you—”

“They _who_?” Malfoy smiled sharply. “Did you bring anything for me?”

“I meant, if they gave you food supplies like milk or cream,” Harry said defensively. “I’m just here to watch you.”

Malfoy’s smile turned sardonic. “I receive supplies twice a year. I do not get milk or cream.”

“Right.” Harry looked down at his plate.

Malfoy ended up taking the last pancake; he washed his own dishes only. Then, whilst Harry washing his own dishes, Malfoy grabbed a knife and a familiar basket. Harry hurried to follow Malfoy back out into the woods.

Malfoy ambled a bit, his path jagged and circular. When Malfoy finally stopped, it was by some mediocre forest bush. He started to cut leaves off it.

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

Malfoy didn’t reply.

“Malfoy?” Harry leant in closer to study the leaves.

“Perhaps you should read a book,” Malfoy said, straightening.

“ _Be_ like that, then.” Harry gripped the wand in his robes.

Malfoy’s gaze slid past him. “I will.”

Harry kept silent after that, watching as blankly as he could as Malfoy collected various leaves and plants.

A small squeaking sound drew Harry’s attention, when Malfoy kneeled down onto the ground. Harry looked closer: it was a rabbit, injured in some hole, leg tangled up.

“Oh, Malfoy,” Harry started, a coo in his voice—

Malfoy took his knife and slit the rabbit’s throat. Harry watched in horror as Malfoy wrapped the creature up in a cloth. When Malfoy shifted sticks and rocks around the place of the rabbit’s death, Harry jerked back as he realised—

It was an animal trap.

“Malfoy!” Harry finally found his words. “You—you _killed_ it!”

Malfoy spoke without turning. “Are you a vegetarian, Auror Potter?”

Harry spluttered. “Well, no, but that was—”

“Then how do you expect meat on the table? _Some_ one has to kill it.” Malfoy strode swiftly through the forest.

“Yeah, but—but there are more humane ways of going about it!” Harry said after him. “That—that rabbit was in pain! It’s not like that back home— _you_ , Malfoy—you could at least stun them first, or—or kill them instantly instead of letting it bleed out in your trap!”

Malfoy didn’t respond one bit, and Harry yet again had to hurry to follow him.

Back in the cabin kitchen, Malfoy placed the rabbit on the sink top and started to gut it.

Harry turned a little green. Whenever he prepared meat, it came in nicely packaged and neatly cut cubes or slabs.

Malfoy looked at Harry and smirked even whilst his hands were busy. “It’s going to be dinner. Care to join me?”

Harry shook his head and rallied himself. “No,” he said in a firm, practised, tone. “I have a report to write.”

Malfoy inclined his head. “As you wish.” He turned his eyes down to the mutilated rabbit, his knife now lifting the skin and fur off the flesh.

Harry gulped, his stomach churned. He returned to his room and did not join Malfoy for dinner.

In his two-day report, Harry had to conclude that there was no suspicious behaviour.

No, Malfoy may not have been the sick and frail and weak as Harry had expected, given that Malfoy had been away from civilisation for six years. However, he was still vindictive and cruel as ever. Harry’s stomach turned at the memory of Malfoy callously killed the poor rabbit...and at the memory of the stew he had on the first night.

That had definitely contained meat.

Harry ate from his own provisions that night, and he did his best to avoid any meat.

***

[Day 3]

On the next day, Harry was up when Malfoy was up. He already had breakfast, from his own provisions, was dressed and had been to the bathroom.

When Malfoy left the cabin, Harry was right behind him.

Harry followed Malfoy in silence. He watched Malfoy chop wood and stack wood and collect plants and berries— _food—_ from the forest. He ate his own meals in the privacy of his room.

 _I can do this_ , Harry repeated more than once to himself. This was just another Auror mission. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t done observation before. It wasn’t as though Harry hadn’t been alone in a task before. It wasn’t as though Harry was stuck here for nearly as long as Malfoy.

***

[Day 4]

On the next day—the fourth, Harry kept excruciating track of the days—Malfoy stopped suddenly in the forest.

Harry wasn’t on alert, until Malfoy turned a full 180 towards Harry. Harry drew his wand and peered into the forest. But it was dim and dappled, tree trunks and greenery as usual. He cast a revealing spell for good measure, but nothing peculiar came up. The forest was supposed to be home to muggle and wizarding creatures, but the area around the cabin was spelled to discourage the predatory ones.

“I decided I want fish,” Malfoy said bluntly.

Harry’s lips twisted. “Right,” he muttered. Nonetheless, he followed Malfoy back to the cabin, and then to a creek.

Malfoy set up his fishing gear, which was mainly a line of twisted string with a worm tied at one end, and he lounged near the bank, looking outwardly relaxed.

But Harry had experience observing Malfoy. Malfoy’s broad shoulders were tense. Harry’s eyes couldn’t stop looking behind them and around them. He cast another quick detection spell, but nothing again. With a quick glance at Malfoy, who hadn’t moved, Harry stepped back into the tree line.

Harry investigated, casting detection spell after detection spell. His wand hand tensed when the hairs on the back of his neck tingled.

Something dark flashed at the edge of his vision.

Harry twisted around, wand raised. “ _Lumos!_ ” Bright light threw the forest into sharp relief. But there was nothing.

As his Lumos faded, he cast another detection spell. He firmed his jaw when it found nothing.

Suddenly, Harry’s robes billowed in a gust of chilling, cold wind. Harry sucked in a sharp breath, and on instinct, snapped out his stag patronus.

The _creature_ , whatever it was, jerked back. Its silhouette and features were misty and see-through. The creature opened it mouth.

Harry’s heart thudded in his chest, and he gasped when his stag charged it. It fled, and the air around him warmed noticeably.

“What the—” Harry held his wand out and turned in a slow circle. But it was properly forest-bright again and the sound of hidden animals filled his ears.

Harry lowered his wand arm shakily. Trying to breathe steadily, Harry started back. The crunch of dried leaves and sticks immediately made his heart thud. Harry’s wand was in his hand in an instant—

“Ah, Auror Potter,” was Malfoy’s dry voice. He had his basket in arm, the shine of fish inside.

“I was just looking around,” Harry said defensively.

Malfoy’s right eyebrow slowly lifted. “I am returning to the cabin now.”

“Do whatever you want.”

Whatever expression that was playing on Malfoy’s lips disappeared as his expression flattened to blankness. He simply turned around and walked away in silence.

Harry was stumped, angry at himself, and at Malfoy, for not understanding Malfoy’s behaviour. Clenching his fists, Harry raced after him.

“Malfoy!”

Malfoy ignored him.

“You _know_ there was a dementor nearby, didn’t you?!” Harry had finally caught up with him.

Malfoy remained tight lipped, eyes looking straight ahead.

“How did you know?” Harry pressed. “And did any of the other Aurors know?”

Malfoy still didn’t talk.

Harry reached out and grabbed Malfoy’s shoulder, twisted him around. “ _Malfoy!_ A dementor, here!”

Malfoy met Harry’s gaze almost lazily. “A dementor, here?” he drawled.

“What do you know about it?” Harry’s eyes narrowed, searching Malfoy’s face.

“Would you trust my words?” Malfoy said, tone absently curious.

“We have to _live_ together for a whole month, Malfoy.” Harry pushed himself into Malfoy’s personal space. “Is it too hard for you be civil?”

“I am being perfectly civil,” Malfoy said coldly.

Harry leaned back, smiling darkly. “Hiding something? This just makes you look even more suspicious.”

Malfoy’s eyes sparked and suddenly it was Harry pushed up against the tree. “This must be so great for you,” Malfoy’s mouth twisted. “Having a _Ministry_ mandate to stalk me, like you did in sixth year.” Malfoy regarded Harry, eyebrow lifted. “Well, tell me what evil I’m supposed to be doing. Tell me what nefarious plot I’m up to, _Auror Potter._ ”

Harry squirmed, but Malfoy’s press was relentless. “I was right in sixth year,” he spat back.

“You were.” Malfoy’s lips curved into a humourless smile. “You’re here to _watch_ me. You’re not here to talk to me or to trust my words.”

“What if I _want_ to talk to you?” Harry freed an arm and jabbed Malfoy in the side.

Malfoy winced and stepped back. His eyes flashed. “And have you ever thought that _I_ might not want to talk to _you?_ You want my words? Then _listen_ ,” Malfoy hissed. “ _You_ are the one being high and mighty, judging me for all the things I do to live. Eating my food, using my firewood without even a thanks!”

“I—”

“And you _still_ track dirt and mud into the cabin.” Malfoy pressed a finger into Harry’s chest. “You’re no different from any other Auror who’s been here.” With that tone of finality, Malfoy turned away.

Harry’s chest tightened. “You’re just as arrogant as always, Malfoy. Did living here teach you _nothing_ of humility or being _nice_ to people?” Harry breathed heavily, fisted his robes. “No wonder your friends deserted you! No wonder your family don’t care about you!”

Malfoy did not turn around and he did not reply. He walked away and was swallowed up behind the trees.

For a few moments, Harry stared blankly. Then, his legs gave way and Harry slid down the tree, horrified at his own words.

*

Malfoy made a campfire that night.

Harry watched from the crack in the curtains of his front window. The words they had exchanged rolled around ceaselessly in Harry’s head. Malfoy sat by the fire with his back to the cabin.

After walking back and forth in his room, Harry forced himself out of the cabin, bearing marshmallows from his provisions.

Malfoy immediately stood up and banked the flames. He brushed past Harry to get inside the cabin.

And Harry...he was left standing alone in the darkness, wondering whether or not he had seen Malfoy’s eyes emptier than usual.


	2. Chapter 2

***

[Day 5]

The next day was normal, as far as Harry could tell. Malfoy mostly avoided his gaze—and glared at Harry when he didn’t.

Malfoy went about wood-chopping and food hunting. Harry followed him, and rarely did Harry see anything other of Malfoy than his back.

Harry ate alone that day.

***

[Day 6]

Instead of going into the forest the next day, Malfoy took out some different tools and implements, went to his wood pile, and started doing things to the wood.

Harry watched idly. The silence though was becoming unbearable.

“This place is pretty nice,” Harry finally said, pointedly gazing at the forest. It _was_ calm and dappled prettily in the sunlight.

Malfoy grunted. Harry couldn’t tell if it was from the exertion of sawing through wood, or as a reply to Harry.

“I went camping, of sorts, during seventh year.” Harry looked down at his hands. “It wasn’t nearly as nice as this.”

Malfoy snorted.

“What did that mean?” Harry looked back at him, annoyed.

Malfoy continued silently on his task, his back to Harry.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to rein in his annoyance. “I mean, my friends aren’t here this time, but at least I’m not being chased by Voldemort.” Harry took a step closer. “And company’s not bad this time either,” he said lightly as though it was of no consequence.

At that, Malfoy straightened and turned around to face Harry. His skin was flush, face shiny with sweat. “Most Aurors don’t trail me for this long.” His voice was cold.

“I’m supposed to.” Harry frowned. “I don’t want to fail, obviously.”

“Tracking and monitoring spells are enough.” Malfoy’s lips twisted. “All done from the comfort of your room. Consider it a _holiday_.”

Harry grimaced. “What would I do in my room then?”

“If you didn’t bring anything to entertain yourself with, then you could wank,” Malfoy said slyly. “Enough Aurors have done so.”

“Malfoy!” Despite himself, Harry’s eyes flicked down to Malfoy’s crotch—and very quickly back up to his face.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed as he gave Harry a cold smile. He gave Harry the cold shoulder next, turning around back to his work.

“First hand observation is better, anyway,” Harry grumbled.

He couldn’t deny it though, how bored he felt watching Malfoy saw wood, and chop wood, and sand down planks of wood.

“What are you making?” Harry walked around til he was facing Malfoy instead.

Malfoy grunted.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well?”

“Bored, Potter?” Malfoy grunted.

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. He peered closely at what Malfoy was doing. “A table? A bench? A doomsday device?”

Malfoy nearly choked. “A _what_?”

Harry grinned. “A muggle doomsday device. It’s something to destroy the world with.”

Malfoy looked at him sharply. “You _want_ me to destroy the world?”

“Dammit, Malfoy, if you’d just _tell_ me what you’re making,” Harry muttered.

“Maybe I like neat pieces of wood,” Malfoy said dryly. He immediately shut his mouth and gave Harry a narrow eyed look. “I will tell you...on one condition.”

Harry brightened. “Yeah, what conditions?”

Malfoy’s expression twisted. “If you fucking shut up and stop talking to me.”

Harry rocked back on his feet, his stomach sinking from the high he hadn’t realised he was on. “What?”

“You fucking heard me. Give up and I’ll tell you.”

Harry bit his lip and shook his head. “No. I _do_ want to talk to you.”

“And what if I don’t want to talk to _you_?” Malfoy’s jaw clenched.

“There has to be—something else you want from me,” Harry tried, eyebrows drawing together. “C’mon, don’t.” Harry swallowed his pride, feeling utterly floundered in their interaction. “Please? Another condition?”

“That’s not how it works,” Malfoy said tightly.

“There has to be _something—_ something that I can do? Something that I can help with?”

Malfoy stared at Harry. Harry twitched.

“There is _one_ thing.” The words were slow and deliberate.

“Yeah?” Harry took a small step closer. “What is it?”

“How _good_ are you are transfiguration?”

“Oh, I’m okay, I guess—” At Malfoy’s expression, Harry was quick to add, “good enough to be an Auror. I get a NEWTs in it.”

“Wood into glass? Or make wood transparent?”

“Yeah, I can!” Harry drew his wand. “I’ve definitely made lots of things transparent before. The only problem is whether it’ll stay, but I bet a permanence charm might just do the trick.”

Malfoy frowned, and he looked back down at what he was doing. “Forget it, Potter,”

“I can _try_ ,” Harry insisted.

“Forget it,” he repeated. Malfoy bent his head down, and his sanding became more vigorous.

Harry frowned and stomped back to his seat to watch Malfoy.

***

[Day 7]

The next morning, Harry left and returned to this room repeatedly, unsure of what to do. When Malfoy went outside though, Harry decided to follow once again.

This time, Malfoy was on the hunt for large, long straight logs. He physically dragged them back to the clearing before he started to even them out.

After watching Malfoy do his thing, Harry finally said, “When did you learn to do that?”

Malfoy gave him a disgruntled look. “ _Practice._ ”

“And where did you get the axe and the saw—and all that stuff?”

Malfoy sneered. “What, thought I stole them? They were here when I got here. And it was either using them or freezing to death.”

“They can’t have _forced_ you...” Harry’s lips twisted. “It’s not in your terms of exile.”

Malfoy scoffed. “You’re shockingly naïve, Auror Potter. Don’t you have reports to write?”

“You haven’t done anything nefarious and evil,” Harry complained. “What am I supposed to write? Draco Malfoy, white, blond, male, no change?”

Malfoy startled and then...he started to laugh.

“Oh! Malfoy, tendency to laugh maniacally. Must investigate further,” Harry grinned.

Malfoy’s laughter smoothed down to a smile, and then to a roll of his eyes. Then he frowned.

Harry gave a big sigh. “What did I do now?”

Malfoy crossed his arms. “Shall I be direct?”

“Yes!”

Malfoy scowled. “You’re wasting both of our time trying to be _friendly_. In a few weeks, you’ll be _gone_. Do your job and let me do mine.”

Harry sighed angrily. “You’re not going to be here forever.”

“Oh, once friends, friends for _ever_ ,” Malfoy said in a ridiculous voice.

“Sor- _ry_ for being optimistic,” Harry shot back. “It’ll be true if we both worked on it. A friendship requires two people.”

“And they don’t _last_ without contact.” Malfoy’s tone was sharp.

“Yeah?” Harry’s own tone became aggressive. “Then what about _your_ friends, Malfoy? You’ve probably haven’t spoken to them for years!”

Malfoy smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Indeed, Potter.”

“It’s like as though—!” Harry growled. “It’s as though you _want_ me to hate you!”

Malfoy tilted his head, that peculiar smile still on his face. “You still hate me.”

“Malfoy!” Harry lunged forward and grabbed Malfoy’s shoulders.

“Go on. _Fight_ me,” Malfoy sneered. “I rather this than your false friendliness.”

Harry’s head dropped. “I _can’t_ ,” he said with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know—I haven’t hated you in a long time. Maybe I shouldn’t have accepted this assignment, but I guess...I guess I wanted to see you...”

“ _See_ me?”

Harry remembered belatedly that his hands were still on Malfoy’s shoulders. He quickly dropped them, and took a step back from Malfoy.

“You’ve grown up. _I’ve_ grown up.” Harry held out his hand. “Can’t we start over?”

Malfoy’s gaze dropped to stare at Harry’s hand. “You’re my _jailer_. For my _crimes_ during the _War_.” Malfoy’s eyes lifted. “We cannot _start over_.”

“What are you so _afraid_ of?” Harry’s voice rose again. “Maybe—maybe I’ll try to come back here again, do another month’s shift. _What_ are you afraid of? Why are you afraid of being friends with _me_?”

“I’m not!” Malfoy’s jaw jutted out mulishly. He glared at Harry.

Harry glared back and sneered. “You’re scared of something as small as _being friends_.”

Malfoy’s hand grasped Harry’s hand, and very nearly crushed Harry’s hand in its grip. Malfoy bared his teeth. “I’m not scared of you.”

Harry tried not to wince. “Good, then. Friends.”

“Friends.” Malfoy squeezed Harry’s hand one last time, then let go. He sneered. “Now, if you _so_ want to help me, you’ll figure out how to make glass.”

Harry massaged his hand discreetly. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“Only after. Get to work.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Fine.”

Malfoy got back to whatever he was doing. Harry shot glances and him and tried out his transfiguration on offcuts of wood.

Harry ate by himself again that day.

***

[Day 8]

Harry couldn’t sleep. He tried, multiple times, to write the weekly report, but his parchment remained blank. He tried to read a book; he tried to clean up the room. When he finally did sleep, he slept fitfully.

Harry laid in bed until the sky colour changed. He launched himself into the morning preparations: he made himself a better breakfast from his provisions, put on his robes and attempted to brush his hair.

However, Malfoy had not gotten up yet, even though the sun was already shining weakly through the windows. So Harry remained in his room and waited.

Harry startled and went to stand right behind his door when his monitoring spell alerted him. Harry shifted on his feet as Malfoy left his room and had his breakfast in the kitchen. When Malfoy exited the house, Harry followed.

But instead of heading into the forest, Malfoy was retrieving something else from the lean-to at the back of the cabin.

A makeshift bucket and mop. The bucket was a hollowed out tree trunk; the mop head were rags lashed together.

Harry hovered behind Malfoy, and then at the doorway of his bedroom. His fingers twitched, watching Malfoy mop the floors the muggle way. Malfoy lifted his head and met Harry with a flat gaze. It was Harry who looked away. Flushing and stomach uncomfortable, he retreated fully into his room.

He sat down heavily on the bed. Merlin, it wasn’t as though Malfoy was doing anything _nefarious_ by mopping the floors, unless he was planning something absurd like making Harry slip.

A while later there was a knock on his door. Harry hurried to open it. “What, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s eyes swept across the room. “Do you want me to mop in here?” he asked neutrally.

The room was a mess and that meant the floor was cluttered. “I—I can do it myself,” Harry stammered. “Magic wand and all.” He shifted, trying to block the worst of the mess from view.

“Very well.” His eyes slid away.

“Wait, Malfoy!” Harry stepped forward.

Malfoy gave him a dull look.

“Do you want me to dry the floors? I...I want to do _something—_ I’m living here too.”

Malfoy’s head tipped. “That would be appreciated.”

“Alright.” Harry grinned weakly, but Malfoy’s expression didn’t change. “Well, I’ll just do it then.” Harry lifted his wand.

Malfoy took a step back, watching Harry critically as he went around drying the floors. As surreptitiously as he could, Harry added some more cleaning and dusting charms around the house.

The last of it done, Harry turned back to Malfoy, expecting—expecting _something_ , but Malfoy was no longer there. Malfoy had slipped back into his own bedroom.

Harry returned to his room and to his monitoring. Lunch came and went without Malfoy emerging. The day lengthened to late afternoon, and still, Malfoy remained in his room.

Not worried—just a little _suspicious_ of Malfoy’s sudden change in behaviour, Harry ventured out of his room and into the kitchen.

There was no food left out in the kitchen. No fridge, just a pantry and cupboards. Harry checked them out: the pantry contained the half full jar of jam as well as an assortment of dried things—Harry tried not to look too close. The cupboards contained a few sets of utensils and three sacks of varying size: flour, salt and sugar.

There was nothing else—Harry did not count the water from the tap.

 _I do not get milk or cream_ , Malfoy had said the other day, so calmly, as though it was _nothing_. As though it was _inconsequential_.

Harry’s chest constricted.

The reality of the sparseness hit Harry then. Malfoy’s previously daily trips into the forest suddenly made sense in Harry’s _gut_ , not just his mind.

As part of his mission, Harry had one of Hermione’s modified bottomless bags, filled with food under cooling and preservation charms to last the month. All the food he needed to maintain a good diet and then some.

Harry swallowed. He even had the simplest things—like milk and cream—that Malfoy didn’t. He stared the cupboards, innocently hiding nothing. Then, he hurried back to his room.

*

Malfoy eventually emerged. His eyes were half open, his posture slack. That was, until he saw Harry pottering around his kitchen.

“Auror Potter?” Malfoy came to sharp stop.

“Dinner?” Harry replied innocently.

Malfoy blinked at him. Then, his eyes narrowed at the array of food.

Harry shrugged. “Aurors have provisions after all. Tea?”

Malfoy took some steps closer. He had a slight dazed expression. Harry tried not to smile too widely.

“I didn’t touch your supplies since...” Harry rubbed his hair.

Malfoy picked up the can of loose tea leaves, and then he traced the side of the accompanying teapot. “The Ministry packs you _this_?” he said, that eyebrow raising. Nonetheless, he poured himself some tea into one of the mugs.

Harry murmured noncommittally. Smiling to himself, he served the first course. “Soup and bread,” he announced, setting the dishes down on the table with a gentle sweep of his wand.

Malfoy sat straighter and breathed deeply. But he didn’t make any other move, aside from staring at his own, filled bowl.

“Malfoy?” Harry tucked into his with gusto. “Have some,” he mumbled around a full mouth.

Malfoy looked at Harry, his gaze unreadable. Harry bit his lip and moved the plate of bread closer to Malfoy. Malfoy’s eyes slid down and he took one.

Harry’s mealtimes with Ron and Hermione were loud. They talked and chattered, often with their mouths full. In contrast, this meal was quiet, filled only with the sounds of movement, light clinking and the ever present hum of the forest outside.

The second course were steaks and gravy. By the end of that, Harry was full. But... “One course left,” Harry announced. With a flourish, he produced a chocolate cake. “Dessert! I know it’s a bit late—well, a _lot_ late—but I thought—” Harry spelled _Happy Birthday Malfoy_ across the cake and conjured a candle on top.

“Is...this a joke?” Malfoy said too quietly. His hands gripped the sides of the table, white.

Harry looked at him, mouth opening wordlessly.

“I _said_ , is this a _joke_?” Malfoy growled.

“N-no!” Harry spluttered. He shook his head.

“Six years, Potter. _No one_. Are you supposed to be somehow different?” With a clatter of his chair, Malfoy stood up, face pulled into a snarl. “Don’t _pity_ me, Potter. I don’t need it and I don’t _want_ it.”

“ _Well_ —!” Harry snapped his mouth shut and breathed in deeply through his nose. “Look, Malfoy— _Draco_ ,” Harry amended.

Malfoy’s mouth twisted at the sound of his given name, but Harry pressed onwards.

“It’s not a joke. Do you think I’d joke about...about something like this?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Malfoy spat. He folded his arms and said stiffly, “I’m not here to be your servant.”

Harry put the cake down and rounded the table. “M—Draco.”

Malfoy turned his head to follow Harry’s movements, his gaze set in a glare.

“Draco,” Harry said again. He moved his hands uselessly in the air. “I...”

Malfoy’s mouth lifted into a sneer. “What?”

“I don’t hate you,” Harry finally said. “Disliked, maybe, but not hate. I even testified for you at the War trials—”

“What, and now you want a thank you? Well, _thank-you_ , Auror Potter, for separating me from everyone I know and landing me in the middle of nowhere.” He made a mocking bow.

“You—” Harry growled and took a menacing step forward. “You could be rotting in Azkaban!”

“And why do you care? I have less rights than a m—muggleborn! I may well be a fucking squib!” Malfoy stepped closer. “So high and mighty, Potter.”

Harry made an annoyed sound at the back of his throat. “What does that even _mean?_ Can’t I care?”

“No one cares,” Malfoy said with such conviction that Harry’s stomach dropped. He sneered. “That’s what you said, remember?”

“Your parents—”

“You said they don’t care about me.”

Harry bit his lip. “I—I...no, they...”

Malfoy lips turned in a dark parody of a smile. “Can’t help me, can they? I have no means to contact them out here—” Malfoy gave a bitter laugh that descended into a dry sob.

Harry’s stomach flipped, staggering back when Malfoy pushed him away roughly. “I testified because you were a _child_ during the War,” Harry said as steadily as he could. “Because I didn’t want to separate another family. Draco...” Harry reached out and tentatively placed a hand of Malfoy’s arm. “This dinner, the cake, it’s the least I could do.”

Malfoy made a choked sound, and his eyes blinked rapidly. “I don’t believe you.”

Harry looked down at their feet. “Well, when I was young...I wished someone celebrated _my_ birthday.”

“What the fuck are you going on about?” Malfoy said, but it wasn’t harsh—not when Malfoy was clearly trying not to cry or physically lash out.

“This is how I wanted someone to show that they cared.” Harry tried to drag his gaze up, but he only reached where his hand rested on Malfoy’s arm. The brown of his skin was just a few shades off the brown of Malfoy’s sleeve. “I wished that my aunt and uncle would, one day.”

“ _You_ care about _me_?”

Harry looked back down at their feet. “Well, not exactly, but I don’t hate you?”

Unexpectedly, Malfoy laughed. It was choked, bitter. “Fuck, fuck,” he said nonsensically. “Fine, I’ll pretend your little plan makes sense.” He shook Harry’s hand off and sat back down.

Harry swallowed and went back to his place at the table. Malfoy’s eyes were too bright, his voice too bright. His expression was apparently exasperated and expectant, but Harry couldn’t _read_ any deeper.

“Well?” Malfoy prompted, “Aren’t you going to sing me happy birthday?”

“I—” Harry shook his head minutely and put on a grin. “You’ll regret that.” Harry took a deep, theatrical breath and launched into his rendition of _Happy Birthday_.

Malfoy pushed his palms against his ears. “That was fucking horrible, Potter.”

Harry laughed. “You asked for it! It’s not my fault I can’t sing. Now make a wish and blow out the candle,” Harry ordered.

“I know how it goes, Potter.” Malfoy rolled his eyes. He leaned forward and blew the flame out.

Harry grinned, turning the cake platter around to show Malfoy the side where Harry had placed the knife. “Your birthday cake, so you get the first slice.”

Just as the knife pressed into the cake, Harry added gleefully—

“A muggle tradition is if the knife touches the bottom, you have to kiss the nearest person.”

Malfoy nearly dropped the knife. “You want me to kiss _you_?”

“Fuck.” Harry flushed red. “I didn’t think that far—I mean, no. Um, it’s just an interesting muggle fact?”

Malfoy regarded him. “For an Auror, you don’t think before you talk.”

“Well,” Harry sighed gustily, “I’m not being an _Auror_ right now. I’m just a bloke.”

“Just a—” Malfoy gave him an unimpressed look and returned to cutting the cake.

They ate the cake in a much friendlier silence. Malfoy cleaned up; Harry helped.

Finally, it was time for Harry to end the light spell in the kitchen. “Good night, Draco.”

Malfoy nodded shortly. “Night, Potter.”


	3. Chapter 3

***

[Day 9]

Harry woke up to the smell of food. He crept out of his room and went to the bathroom. Curious about what the smell was though, he peeked into the kitchen. Malfoy was frying eggs.

Malfoy saw him. “Join me,” he said.

“No, I don’t want to impose—”

“I’m only saying it once, Potter,” Malfoy replied.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Right.” He went to his room and returned with loaf of sliced bread. “Toast these?”

Malfoy held his hand out. “Give them here.” He slid the eggs off onto a plate and toasted the bread in the pan.

“So,” Harry said, once he’d settled down at the table with his eggs and toast, “what are we doing today?”

“My mysterious project,” Malfoy said mildly.

“I _have_ been practising my transfiguration,” Harry had to say.

Malfoy snorted. “That remains to be seen.”

*

“Are you going to tell me now?” Harry asked as he trailed Malfoy around the cabin to where the ‘project’ resided.

Malfoy smirked. “Only once you successfully transfigure.”

“Yeah? Well, you haven’t _made_ anything for me to transfigure yet,” Harry snarked back. “I can, you know.” He motioned at Malfoy’s timber stack—a lot of relatively flat, long pieces of wood, and some various other shaped ones, too. All Harry knew was that it was a _lot_ of wood, and probably too much to be a simple table.

“There is another thing you can do...for me,” Malfoy said.

“Yeah?” Harry gave Malfoy a skeptical look.

“Conjure some nails. All the ones I have are rusted.”

“Will that make you tell me what it is earlier?”

Malfoy smirked. “Not at all.”

“ _Draco_!”

“But.” Malfoy raised a placating hand. “It would mean this is done faster, and within the month.”

“I suppose...” Harry picked up some sliver of cast-off wood on the ground and quickly transfigured it. With a side grin, he handed it over to Malfoy. “This it?”

Malfoy examined it quickly. “Fine. This will _last_ though, correct? Or does it also suffer from lack of permanence?”

“It should last,” Harry sighed.

“Well then. You have your temporary task. I need hundreds of these, Potter.” Malfoy smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, Draco,” he said mockingly. Nonetheless, he settled into his task, transfiguring up more nails than he could count.

*

By lunch time, Harry had buckets of nails, and Malfoy’s timber pile had grown. They went inside, and without fuss, Harry took out a couple of sandwiches to share, and a bottle of fruit juice.

“You know...” Harry realised, “If I hadn’t made all those nails, what would you have done?”

Malfoy took his time in answering, slowly chewing his food. “I’m sure I would have done something.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, what?”

Malfoy merely shrugged. “Whatever it was, I am clearly not going to do so now.”

“Given that I just made buckets of them, shouldn’t I get to know?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Seriously.”

*

All through the afternoon, Harry _tried_ to get Malfoy to reveal any of his plans, but Malfoy, the stubborn prick, just kept smirking and prodding Harry about his shoddy transfiguration skills.

“Is it greenhouse? A house extension? A fish tank?” Harry guessed and guessed and guessed. But Malfoy’s smirk never changed, so even if Harry _had_ guessed correctly, he wouldn’t know otherwise.

And as for _dinner_...

“Are you trying to _bribe_ me to reveal the answer before time?” Malfoy said.

Harry had worked hard, just as he had the previous night. “No,” he denied, “but is it working anyway?”

Malfoy snorted. “The answer isn’t nearly as glamorous as you think it is. It’s something mundane—and _not_ a tree dwelling of any kind, Potter.”

“Tree house,” Harry corrected.

“Surely you have other topics of conversation,” Malfoy drawled. “Tell me, how is the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio?”

Harry scoffed. “As if you care.” However, that didn’t stop him from recounting the events of the last few years to Draco Malfoy over dinner.

***

[Day 10]

The next day dawned bright and warm—Malfoy said it was exceptionally warm. They spent the morning on Malfoy’s secretive project, and lunch outside in the sun.

Harry stretched back on the grass, warm and full. “I don’t really want to get back to work,” he murmured, eyes closed.

A shadow fell across his face, overlaying the red of his eyelids grey.

“Well then, Potter, fancy a swim?”

Harry groaned. “You’re not meant to swim right after a meal,” he mumbled.

Somehow, Harry could imagine Malfoy rolling his eyes. “There is a river meander nearby.”

There was rustling, and the shadow moved away as Malfoy headed back to the cabin.

Harry groaned again, but he forced himself up. By the time he did, Malfoy was exiting, carrying a basket with towels inside.

“We’re actually _doing_ this?” Harry blinked. “I didn’t bring my swimming shorts.”

Malfoy gave the tiniest toss of his hair. He raised one eyebrow before heading into the trees.

Harry hurried behind him. “I suppose I could transfigure my pants,” he muttered.

“I doubt your skills,” was Malfoy’s reply.

“Hey! The glass is coming along fine!”

Malfoy made a non-committal hum.

The river meander turned out to be shallow, wide, curve of the river. Its neck was very narrow, and the water moved relatively slow, unlike that patches of river Malfoy fished in.

Harry looked at the water dubiously. “Is that even safe to swim in?”

“This is not _my_ first time,” Malfoy scoffed.

“ _That_ doesn’t mean—” Harry turned to face Malfoy, and the words dried up in his mouth.

Malfoy was stripping down.

Layers and layers were just coming off, and suddenly there was more skin than Harry had ever seen before. Unlike the darker skin of Malfoy’s face and arms, the rest of his body was still white. Harry didn’t even know white people _got_ that white.

“Err, Malfoy?” Harry’s mouth gargled out, when he realised Malfoy wasn’t stopping. “Are you—”

Malfoy glanced up, and he smirked. He was only in his pants now. “Yes, Potter?” He hooked his thumbs between the waistband of his pants. “Are you going to swim with all those clothes on?”

Harry flushed and turned away. “Course not!” He busied himself with taking off the few layers he had on, given the warm day, and waited impatiently for the sound of Malfoy entering the water.

Harry glanced over to Malfoy’s neatly folded piles of clothes and confirmed it for himself. Malfoy’s pants sat right on top.

Harry steeled himself and took his pants too. He felt odd, the freedom of it, out in the open sun.

“Are you planning on sunbathing?” Malfoy shouted.

“What if I was?” Harry shouted back, his eyes drawing to Malfoy.

Malfoy was waist deep in the water, and his hair and chest were dripping with water. “Mind you, the water is cool,” Malfoy said slowly, eyes glinting.

“That’s _fine_ ,” Harry waved it off and entered the water—“Fuck!”

Malfoy laughed. He pushed through the water, closer and closer to Harry, and Harry cringed when Malfoy suddenly splashed water.

Harry gritted his teeth and pushed it, splashing water right back. “You prick!” Harry was _so_ prepared for the water battle that followed, and any awkwardness Harry had faded away entirely.

*

Malfoy had a slight smile, Harry noticed, during dinner. Harry probably had a grin himself.

“Hey, Draco...”

“Spit it out,” Malfoy sounded bored, but he still had that slight smile.

Harry gathered his courage, and hoped that what he said next wouldn’t destroy the mood. “Are you ever going to tell me about…the other day?”

“Which day?”

Harry looked down. “The dementor.” He quickly looked back up again. Malfoy’s smile was gone.

Malfoy stretched the silence. “It’s not really a dementor,” he finally said.

Harry leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a ghost of one, or a ghost of a creature that mimicked a dementor, or something else altogether—”

“But that’s—that’s impossible!”

Malfoy scowled. “Then perhaps you should investigate it _yourself_.”

Harry quickly leaned back in his seat. “No—I...I’m listening.”

Malfoy set down his knife and fork. “Effects similar but weakened. Attributes of both ghosts _and_ dementors. I have only seen one. It’s more see-through than a usual dementor.” At that, Malfoy’s gaze darkened. “I _know_.”

“And...” Harry shivered. “How do you escape it? Fight it? You can’t cast a patronus,” Harry realised, eyes widening.

Malfoy grimaced. “I avoid it if possible. It seems to have aversions to light and running water. It’s not a _proper—_ ” Malfoy cut himself off with a frustrated sound.

“There are supposed to be blanket repulsion spells around the cabin,” Harry mused. “Maybe...but it shouldn’t be around here.”

“And why ever not?”

“This—” Harry spread his hands vaguely to encompass their surroundings, “isn’t meant to be a death sentence. That _thing_ may well kill you.”

Malfoy bristled. “I’m not defenceless, _Potter_.”

“You don’t have a wand,” Harry said bluntly. He twisted his lips. “We need to do something about that thing.”

“Neither ghosts nor dementors can be killed,” Malfoy retorted. “Just leave it.”

“If _Hermione_ were here, she’d know—are you _sure_? Have people tried?”

“I’m quite sure they have. But,” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, “you’re welcome to try.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Are you going to _investigate_ tomorrow?”

“But then, you...”

“I don’t need your help,” Malfoy drawled.

“What if _I_ wanted _your_ help?” Harry countered. “You know the forest better than me.”

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Then, I recommend _not_ going hunting for it. At least, not without a plan.”

“Will you come, though?” Harry insisted. He held Malfoy’s gaze. Malfoy blinked.

“I will.”

***

[Day 11]

“So where is it?” Harry asked expectantly as they entered the forest.

“It does not inhabit a _house,_ ” Malfoy replied distractedly. He had his head tilted in a peculiar way, as though he was trying to _listen out_ for it. “And even if it did, it may be beyond where I can go.”

Nonetheless, Malfoy changed direction and headed deeper into the forest. He looked back slightly at Harry. “Do you have a plan?”

Harry fingered the wand in his palm and nodded shortly. “I—I think so. At the very least, we won’t die.”

“ _Charming_.”

Harry couldn’t think of any reply to that.

Malfoy led them deeper in. The forest became denser and darker and colder.

“Is it...near?” Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Not particularly.” Malfoy peered into the gloom. “But it was here recently.” Malfoy turned to Harry. “Dementors sense fear. Are you scared, Potter?”

Harry’s palms were starting sweat. “Anticipation, not fear,” he mumbled.

Malfoy smiled wryly. “We’re the only humans around. Your...emotions will be sharper than any forest creature. And don’t forget—this dementor can go _through_ solid objects. It can emerge from any of the trees surrounding us.”

Harry’s traitorous heart was thumping. He glanced around them. “Is it just me or has it gotten colder?”

Malfoy’s gaze whipped back to the surround trees. “It has.” His eyes narrowed.

Harry took a step closer to Malfoy until their shoulders brushed. “Stay close.” Harry held his wand out and slowly pivoted in a circle. His breaths quickened.

“Fuck!” Malfoy pushed Harry and Harry stumbled, turning in time to see the faded blue-black of _it_.

Harry gasped at the sudden chill. It disappeared for the moment into the trees.

“It’s coming back,” Malfoy hissed. “Where’s your damned plan?”

“I need it to come back,” Harry whispered furiously. “We need to get a distance from it.”

“In _that_ case—” Malfoy grabbed Harry’s shoulder and started to drag him away. “I can feel it—” He suddenly turned, spinning Harry round too.

It burst out as Malfoy had warned.

The memories of the last few days welled up in Harry’s mind. He drew a short sharp breath and started to chant—“ _Expecto Patronum!_ _Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!_ ”

Stag after stag—each one smaller than the previous—burst out of his wand. His wand arm trembled, his knees threatened to buckle, but he kept going. And—and—and—he didn’t know _how_ it actually worked, but he was fucking glad the patroni obeyed his will and surrounded _it_ in a pearly white spherical _mass_.

 _It_ looked like a dark shadow inside of it. Harry shakily commanded the patroni to tighten and tighten into a smaller and smaller ball, so did the shadow became smaller and smaller, until—

Until—

Until both squeezed out of existence, followed by an explosion of white glitter light.

Harry gasped. He tried to breathe.

His grip slackened. His wand slipped. His legs buckled.

Arms immediately encircled him and kept him from falling.

Harry tilted his head back, grinning weakly. “It worked.”

“That was the most _stupid_ thing, Potter!” Malfoy growled. “ _Any_ thing and _every_ thing could have gone wrong! And how did you produce more than one patronus at a time?!”

Harry’s eyes drooped closed as he leaned back against Draco. “Golden boy, remember?” he joked.

His breathing evened out and...

***

[Day 14]

...He woke up in his room in the cabin, entirely wrung out and bones feeling like jelly.

There was still some light shining through his window. The cabin was quiet.

What had woken him?

Harry turned his head. He was tucked into bed with more blankets than usual. There was a mug by his bed. Harry pushed himself up and reached for it, taking a sip. It was water.

Presently, he had the urge to go to the bathroom. So he pulled himself out from under the blankets. That was when Draco came in, dressed up in his outdoor gear and carrying his basket.

“You’re up,” Draco said. He sounded surprised.

“Yeah.” Harry stood up. And subsequently, his knees buckled and he fell down.

Draco put down his basket and rushed over to Harry, physically lifting him back to a seated position on the bed. “You shouldn’t get up,” he reprimanded. “You were absolutely drained of magic, Potter.”

“How long was I out?”

“Three days, and you’re _still_ weak.” He tried to pushed Harry to lie down.

“I need to go to the bathroom. And I’m hungry,” Harry added.

Draco’s chin jutted out. “Then I’ll get a bucket for you, and I’ll bring dinner in here.”

Harry flushed. “No! I’ll go to the damn bathroom.”

Draco’s response came a long second later. “Fine. Good luck, you’ll need it.”

“Where’s my thanks for getting rid of it?” Harry snarked.

“I never asked for it.” Draco gave Harry a look. “This is your own fault.” He picked up his basket again. “I’ll just leave the door open, shall I?” he said as he left.

Harry took some deep breaths. He tried to get up and succeeded, and he used the walls to aid him to the bathroom. He did his business, took some time to sit down and rest in the bathroom, before making his way back to bed.

Despite himself, he ended up dozing. By the time he woke up, it was dark.

He managed a _Lumos_ and made his way to the kitchen, which was softly lit.

Draco immediately stood up from the table and came round. “Potter!” He hovered uncertainly by Harry.

“Merlin, call me Harry already,” Harry said tiredly. “What’s for dinner?”

Draco’s hands final rested on Harry, pushing him gently to the table. “Sit. I’ll get you some soup.”

“Thanks.” Harry propped his arm up on the table and rested his head on his hand. His stomach rumbled. He idly watched Draco. “Waaait...” he said, when Draco set down Harry’s bowl of soup.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “So how did you deal with feeding me and cleaning me the last few days?”

Draco winced. “Don’t be mad, Potter,” he muttered. “But I used your wand. Without it...nothing I could do was good enough.”

A spike of possessiveness came over Harry. “It’s _Harry_. And you used my _wand_? How did it even _work_ for you?”

“I don’t know, _Harry,_ ” was Draco’s frustrated reply. “It worked alright—but you were out for days!”

Harry forced himself to relax his grip on his wand. “Okay. Were you planning to ever tell me?”

Draco nodded shortly.

“Okay. Alright.” Harry looked down at his soup. “I guess, th—”

“If you’re about to _thank_ me,” Draco interrupted, “well, we’re be here for days arguing over who should be thanking who, and how much thanks is due. Just _leave it_.”

Their gazes locked. Harry’s mind thundered with words and then became clear. Finally, he said, “Alright.”

Draco nodded shortly. “Now eat your dinner.”

Harry relaxed back and grinned. “I didn’t know you cared.”

Draco scowled. “I don’t.”

Harry just smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

***

[Day 15]

In Draco’s insistence, Harry lazed the next day. What that meant to Harry was sitting outside, watching Draco work on his secret project.

Draco had marked a rectangle by the side of the cabin and had already laid down the foundations.

“It’s a building of some kind,” Harry said. He sat on one of the chairs from the dining room.

Without preamble, Draco said, “It’s a shed.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Really?”

Draco finished one wall of the building and turned to Harry. “Really,” he said a very flat tone. “I told you it was nothing surprising.”

“No, that’s still cool. It’s...practical?”

“Perhaps you should stop digging yourself into a hole,” Draco drawled.

Harry grinned sheepishly. “You’ve inspired me to renovate Grimmauld Place?”

An eyebrow came up. “ _Inspired_ you?”

“Yeah.” Harry shrugged. “Yeah—I live there, and it’s an old dump, and I’ve been _meaning_ to get it cleaned up.”

An unreadable expression flitted across Draco’s place. “The old Black residence?”

“Yes...” Harry said hesitantly. “Sirius left it to me. And I...couldn’t bring myself to find a new flat. I suppose—I suppose you’ve been there before, maybe?”

“A very, very long time ago. Mostly, I remember being glad to go home afterwards.”

Harry twisted his lips in sympathy. “Yeah, I get that.”

Draco opened his mouth, but then closed it. Moments passed, and then Draco started back on constructing the walls.

Harry kept a sigh to himself. He heard the way Draco’s voice had hitched at the word ‘home’. And there was nothing Harry could do about it.

*

In the afternoon, Draco went into the forest to gather food, and Harry napped in bed. The air was warm and Harry slipped in and out of half-forgotten dreams.

 _Home_.

Grimmauld Place as home, dark and dank as it was. It had felt more _home_ when Hermione and Ron had stayed there with him, but they had moved out a few years ago. Sometimes, when Harry stayed at the Weasleys—that felt like home. More so than Grimmauld Place.

 _Draco_.

The boy in the past, the man in the present. Whose current home was _here_.

Harry opened his eyes to the naked wooden finish of the cabin. He sighed and his mind wondered. Eventually, he forced himself to write the second week report.

He startled at the sound of the door opening and he rushed to get up and greet Draco. He followed Draco into the kitchen, and watched as Draco made dinner.

Watched the way Draco’s eyes jumped and moved and focused.

Watched the way Draco’s hands chopped and stirred and carried.

Watched the way Draco’s muscles played and tensed and shifted.

“Set the table, will you?” Draco murmured.

Harry lurched up from his seat. “Of course.” He pattered around Draco to retrieve the cutlery and dishes. He quickly nipped back into his room to retrieve the array of ingredients he needed to make a mint-lime iced tea—tea, mint, lime, and honey.

Draco, eyebrows raised, watched Harry make the drink. “What are you _doing_ with the tea?”

Harry grinned at Draco. “You’ll like it,” Harry said lightly as he poured them a half mug each. On afterthought, he drew his wand and transfigured the mugs into glasses, before adding in a few slices of lime and sprigs of mint. With a flourish, he presented them to Draco.

Draco smirked. “Not bad.” He served them both dinner, and they started eating, temporarily leaving Harry to his own thoughts again.

Why hadn’t Harry realised sooner that they always sat across each other?

Why hadn’t Harry realised sooner how small the table was, how their legs and knees bumped often?

Why hadn’t Harry realised sooner the tired curve of Draco’s face, the brightening in his eyes when he met Harry’s gaze?

“Are you alright?” Draco asked. “You’re awfully quiet.”

A slow blush spread across Harry’s face and refused to leave. He ducked his head. “I’m fine.” He stuffed his mouth with food.

Draco regarded Harry. “If you’re feeling up to it, you can help me tomorrow with the unglamorous shed.”

Harry gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I think I am. I’ll get that glass transfigured too.”

“Much appreciated.” Draco gave Harry a professional nod.

Harry sighed and smiled at Draco.

Draco smiled back.

Harry smiled somewhat dreamily back. Luckily, Draco did not say anything on it.

***

[Day 16]

Together, the next day, Harry and Draco raised and hammered in all the walls. Harry transfigured all the glass windows and then helped Draco put the roof in place. The last thing to do was to add the two wide doors that took nearly a whole wall: Harry held the doors steady as Draco hammered in the hinges.

Harry stood back and admired Draco’s handiwork. Standing next to the wooden cabin, both of them _fitted_ each other and the forest surroundings.

“I can’t believe it,” Harry said, just to _say_ something.

Draco mocked scowled. “Pardon? Can’t believe what?”

Harry gave a sly grin. “It looks like someone with skill made it.”

Draco hooked a rough arm around Harry’s neck. “Why, of course,” he said darkly.

Harry’s grin turned full-blown and giddy. “We actually did it! We’re _such_ a good team.”

Draco slowly smiled back. “Yeah. Thanks, Harry.” His arm around Harry’s neck loosened out, until it rested on Harry’s shoulder. Harry tried not to focus on the touch too much.

“So,” Harry said, “what are you going to put in it?”

“Firewood.” Draco blinked at Harry. “Lots and lots of firewood.”

Harry blinked incredulously back. “What’s wrong with the lean-to at the back?”

“It was a bloody _lean-to_. A shed is _at least_ one step better.”

“We should move all that firewood from the back to here then.”

Draco smirked and his arm dropped. “A good idea. How surprising of you.”

Harry winked and Draco laughed.

*

Harry nudged Draco as they washed up the dishes from lunch together.

“So, plans for the afternoon?”

“Shall we collect some more firewood?” Draco said innocently, in contrast with his sharp nudge back.

“C’mon, there has to be some other grand project we can do,” Harry said.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “If you wanted another project, we’d need even _more_ wood.” A smirk crept over Draco’s face. “Bored, are you? I have just the thing.”

Harry leaned back. “Riiiigghtt,” he drew out.

Draco gave him a heavy pat on the back. “You’d _love_ it.”

They finished with the dishes; Harry followed Draco round to the shed, which also housed all the tools now along with the stacks and stacks of firewood.

Draco picked up the axe and rope—and held out the axe.

“Well then,” he smirked, “it’s time for _you_ to take a turn.”

Harry straightened his shoulders and accepted the axe. “Why so much firewood anyway?”

“How do you _expect_ the hot water comes about?” Draco headed into the forest, and Harry trotted after him.

“Magic?” Harry replied.

Draco scoffed. “I’ll show you it, sometime.”

They came across a fallen tree. Draco nudged it with his foot, but it remained steady. He took a step back. “Go on then, Harry.”

Harry hefted the axe in his hands. “I’ve never done this.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Scared of failing?”

“Of course not,” Harry retorted. He went up closer and aimed for one of the branches. The axe came down with a heavy thud, biting into the wood. The branch broke off, but just barely.

Draco bent over and dragged the branch from the others. “Well, go on,” he motioned. “Try to be neat.”

Harry gave him a quick glare and set to work, and very slowly, the pile of hacked-away branches grew.

“Is it enough yet?” Harry grunted. “This isn’t that hard,” his mouth said.

Draco’s eyelids lowered and he smiled. “Why, thank you for your offer, Harry.”

Harry huffed. “Alright. Now what?”

“Now, you can carry them all back,” he said, taking the axe from Harry and handing him the rope instead.

Harry blew hair through his fringe. “Merlin, Draco.” Nonetheless, he did his best to loop the rope around the bundle, and with an almighty growl, hefted the thing over his shoulder. “Now,” he said, trying not to sound out-of-breath, “I need you to lead the way back.”

Draco gave him a manly pat that almost unbalanced him. “You can do it,” he teased.

Harry grunted, focusing mostly on putting one foot before the other. Harry was relieved when they finally made it back to the clearing, letting it all drop at his feet before sitting down on the ground himself.

“Oh my god,” Harry exhaled in rush.

Draco laughed and patted Harry on the head. “Sit tight, Potter.”

Harry’s eyes nearly closed at the sensation. “Alright,” he breathed.

Draco’s hand lingered only a moment. “Good.”

Did Harry imagine the hitch in his voice?

When Harry’s eyes fully opened again, Draco was collecting up the fallen branches and chopping them up into the small, even firewood pieces Harry was accustomed to seeing.

Eventually, Harry got up and helped Draco move the wood into the shed that _they_ made.

Harry couldn’t help but admire at the shed.

“What are you grinning about?” Draco looked sidelong at Harry.

Harry tried to suppress his grin, but it grew wider instead. He raised his arms up. “Look! Look at this.”

Draco was patently unimpressed. “Pardon?”

“ _We_ made this. Well, _you_ did most of it, but look at it! It’s here, it’s standing.” Harry shook his head.

“Was that a _compliment_?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, I was just insulting anything and everything.”

“Or,” Draco’s lip quirked up, “was that an allusion to your own construction failures? Do tell, I am always open to listening to your inadequacies.”

Harry made an expressive sigh. “If I told you about them, then we’ll be here _forever!_ ”

Draco smirked. “I’m all ears.”

Harry raised both his eyebrows. “You asked for it,” he grinned.

*

Draco had said that it was the last warm, dry day in a while. Hence, that night, they sat outside on the logs in front of a campfire.

That didn’t mean that the night wasn’t chilly—Harry leaned forward, warming his hands and face by the bright firelight briefly, before revealing the marshmallows he had taken out.

“What are _those_?” Draco said.

“Muggle marshmallows,” Harry replied brightly. “You eat them—I’ll show you.”

Draco gave him a dubious look. “They don’t look particular appetising.”

“Have you ever heard of something called patience, Draco? I hear that it’s quite a virtue.”

Draco grumbled, “Just hurry up, I’m burning with anticipation.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at Draco. He ripped open the package and popped one marshmallow in his mouth. “Taste okay like this,” he mumbled whilst chewing it.

Draco’s eyebrow shot up; he looked faintly disgusted. “I do _not_ need to see _that_ inside your mouth.”

Harry gave a short laugh and nearly choked. Draco thumped him on the back—Harry glared at him when it was clearly harder than necessary.

“First, you need a stick,” Harry declared. He conjured one up. “Then, you stick your marshmallow on your stick.” He stuck three marshmallows on his stick. “And then you stick it near the fire.” He held out his stick, a hand span from the dancing flames.

“Potter...” Draco said lowly. “You _do_ realise that those ‘marshmallows’ are melting and burning, don’t you?”

“Merlin, Malfoy,” Harry rolled his eyes. “That’s the bloody point.” Harry took another un-toasted marshmallow out and held up towards Draco’s mouth. “Eat.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat when Draco leaned forward and bit into it. Harry _swore_ that he could feel the heat from Draco’s lips; he quickly let go of the marshmallow before Draco took it all inside his mouth.

Draco’s face twisted. He chewed and swallowed. “The outside is all dry and powdery,” he grimaced.

“And _now_ , try _this_ ,” Harry offered Draco his stick.

Draco leaned forward. His white teeth flashed as he delicately nibbled the top marshmallow directly from the stick. Harry could only think of staying _as still as possible_.

“So?” Harry near-whispered. “How was it?”

Draco licked his lips.

Harry tried not to look at those lips.

“Peculiar,” Draco said. “Very peculiar.”

“Would you like another?” said Harry slyly, and perhaps a bit shyly too.

Draco shifted closer on the log until _their thighs were brushing._ Draco’s tone though was absolutely nonchalant: “If you insist.”

The words caught in Harry’s throat. “Yeah,” he finally managed. He quickly handed Draco the stick and studiously conjured his own stick and stuck on some more marshmallows.

“What would _possess_ Muggles to do this?” Despite his words, Draco snatched the marshmallow packet off Harry’s lap to refill his stick.

“Capitalism? Sugar?” Harry said dryly. He was thrilled when Draco laughed.

“I’ve wanted to do this when I was young,” Harry admitted.

“I’m not sure I understand the appeal, but why ever not?”

Harry smiled a little at Draco’s continued false-neutrality on marshmallows. He needed that feeling of amusement of answer the question. “You know, I lived with my aunt and uncle. And you know, they weren’t...”

Draco gave Harry a curious look. “I don’t know.”

Harry blinked. “Right. It was all over the papers after the war, but I suppose you weren’t there.”

Draco froze. And then he looked away. “No, I wasn’t. Do, continue.”

“Then, you don’t know, but they weren’t _nice,_ ” Harry said quickly. “They didn’t want to give me anything, least of all _marshmallows._ ”

“These marshmallows are low quality. They cannot be _expensive_.”

Harry looked into the fire and scoffed. “They barely fed me and barely clothed me. No, they wouldn’t ever buy me something as _small_ as marshmallows.”

Draco didn’t answer.

The silence lengthened awkwardly, tensely, until Harry couldn’t stand it. He turned his gaze back towards Draco.

Draco held up the near-empty packet. “Do you want the rest?”

Harry sighed and smiled. “Thanks.”

They finished eating and sat in silence. Harry could still feel the press of Draco’s thigh, but nothing seemed to come of it. Harry was starting to think that maybe people like Draco were just _like that_ , taking up other people’s space.

“I don’t know where we are,” Draco said abruptly.

“We’re—”

“And I’m quite sure I’m not meant to know,” Draco cut in.

Harry pressed his lips together.

“All I know is it: I’m far from home, and this is not in the northern hemisphere. Look up.” Draco looked up, so Harry followed.

Above them was the night sky; a clear deep blue, dotted with pinprick stars.

“Do they feel familiar to you?” Draco asked quietly.

“They look the same to me,” Harry confessed.

“They’re not. Oh, I _knew_ these skies on a theoretical level, but they aren’t the skies above Britain.”

“Oh.”

“And the Draco constellation can only be seen in the northern hemisphere.”

“Naming stars after yourself?” Harry joked.

Draco shifted. The heat from his thigh disappeared. “Rather, _I_ was named after the constellation.”

Harry swallowed and inwardly cursed himself. “Oh, right.”

“It was a Black family tradition. My mother’s name was an exception.” Draco’s voice became quieter. “I grew up with the stories behind them, but only a few can be seen here.”

“Draco...” Harry turned his body towards Draco.

Draco’s face was unreadable, made worse by the shadows cast by the firelight. “It’s the sixteenth already. You’re halfway through your assignment.”

Harry frowned. “I—I guess so, but why does that matter?”

Draco stood up. “I’m tired.” He hesitated, but not long enough for Harry to formulate any intelligent words. “Thank you for the marshmallows, and good night.”

Harry immediately stood up too—stumbled against the log and reached out and grabbed Draco’s arm. “Wait! Why are you going?”

“I’m tired,” Draco repeated, eyes looking just past Harry’s shoulder.

“ _Draco_.” Harry took a deep breath. “So what if it’s the day sixteen? We still have half a month to go. And I—and I’ll come _back_.”

Draco’s face twisted into a snarl; he very visibly forced his face to smooth. “ _Four years_ ,” he said dully. “You have half a month left. I have four years.”

“I’ll come back. I don’t break my word,” Harry said forcefully in return.

Draco’s other hand lifted up and peeled Harry’s hand off his arm, one finger at a time. “Good _night_.”

Harry curled his hands by his side. “Then what?” he burst out. “Did I read you wrong? Is there anything I can do? Are you _scared_?”

“For Merlin’s sake!” Draco snapped. “I’m bloody tired. Tell me this in the fucking light of day! In the fucking stark bright light of day!” Draco brought a hand to his eyes and muttered something to himself.

“What?”

“Think about it, Potter. I need to.” Without another word, Draco turned and walked straight back into the cabin.

Harry scrunched up the marshmallow packet and threw it to the ground. But it made him feel worse, because the damn packet un-scrunched and had hardly any weight to make any noise as it hit the ground. He kicked it; he kicked the log. He Vanished the flames.

The stars—the stars of the southern hemisphere—twinkled up ahead.

“Day sixteen,” Harry muttered. _Halfway_.

Harry stomped back into the cabin.


	5. Chapter 5

***

[Day 17]

The next day dawned with clouds scudding across the sky.

Harry hesitated inside his bedroom, but he ultimately went out, bearing gifts of fruit juice and bacon. Draco was already in the kitchen, making breakfast as usual.

Harry greeted him and Draco greeted him back, as usual. Harry took out the plates and mugs, Draco portioned out the food.

But it was only the surface actions that felt _as usual_. Draco’s eyes skidded over Harry’s eyes just as Harry’s skidded over Draco’s. Harry couldn’t help but dart glances. He steeled himself to say something, _anything_ , his heart thudding—“So, what are we doing today?”—only to berate himself for how _stupid_ he was.

Draco lifted his head. “Whatever needs to be done,” he said with a fake lightness.

Harry’s own head dropped back down to his food. “Right.”

*

Harry just... _could not_ , that day. He would try to say something; Draco’s reply would grate him in _some_ way; and Harry would shut down again. They chopped wood—they were _always_ bloody chopping wood.

In the afternoon, Draco went collecting herbs and plants and even mushrooms.

“They aren’t magic mushrooms, are they?” Harry had joked.

Draco gave him a blank look. “These mushrooms have no magical properties,” he said flatly. “This forest does not have enough magic _anything_ for even a basic potion.”

Harry grimaced. “It was a Muggle reference,” he said weakly.

Draco had made no comment, and Harry didn’t have the energy to carry the conversation on by himself.

***

[Day 18]

A new day, a new beginning, as they say. Harry hoped for something different. It was obvious that Draco wasn’t going to make a move, and Harry was absolutely sick of it.

“Morning, Draco,” Harry said extra brightly. “So, what are we going to do today? Will we be wood chopping, wood chopping, or wood chopping? Or maybe we’re gonna mix it up a little by chopping wood instead?”

Draco frowned at him, but his lip quirked up. “You alright there, Potter?”

Harry went right up to him and patted Draco on the shoulder. “In your presence, never better. So,” Harry perked up, “what are we going to do today?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Are you blind and deaf? It’s raining outside.”

“What?” Harry turned to the window; it was slightly misted up with trickles of water. Now that Harry listened, he could hear the rhythmic drumming of rain on the roof.

“There is nothing urgent to be done, so I shall be spending a quiet day inside.”

Harry widened his eyes comically. “This is something _really_ different. Oh!” Harry grinned. “This is the perfect opportunity to take out those books Hermione packed for me.

Draco made a breathy sound. “Books? You have books?” Draco cleared his throat. “I can’t believe you can actually read.”

“And what did you think I was doing at school?”

“Being a sickeningly grandiose Gryffindor, obviously.”

“And you were being a slimy Slytherin, obviously.” Harry pouted. “You should be nice to me if you want to see those books.”

“Potter, you—”

“Or, you can call me Harry.” Harry had meant to say it jokingly, but it came out serious. Harry _was_ serious.

Draco looked taken aback.

“Because—because we’re not enemies, or acquaintances. I hope that we’re more than that, or could be more than that....I...” Harry felt his cheeks heat up, but he blundered on, “and you have called me Harry before. I don’t know why you stopped. _Please_ , Draco.”

“This won’t work out,” was Draco’s tired reply.

“And how do you know that?” Harry shook his head. “Anyway, technically, I’m not a potter—I don’t make pottery, obviously. Don’t know a thing about it.”

Draco’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps you had ancestors who did.”

“Maybe.” Harry was dubious.

“Perhaps we should have breakfast before it gets cold,” Draco said pointedly.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dad,” he said with a sigh. “Are you going to tell me to eat my vegetables too?”

Draco shook his head, but there was a touch of smile on his lips. “You are incorrigible, Harry.”

Harry ducked his head: ostensibly to eat, but in reality to hide his own smile.

*

After they ate and cleaned up, Draco stoked the fire in the fireplace and Harry retrieved all the books that Hermione had packed him. He set them all out on the wide padded seat by the fire (Harry hesitated to call it a ‘sofa’).

Draco stood up from where he crouched by the flames. His eyes brightened at the books. “What are you reading, Harry?” he murmured, even as his eyes scanned over the titles.

Harry picked up one of the novels. “I’m supposed to read this sequel.”

Draco’s eyes barely glanced at it—unlike Harry’s novel, Draco picked up something quite denser. He set it aside and placed the remaining books on the table.

Harry sat down on one side of the seat, nearest the warmth. Draco gave him an arched eyebrow, but nonetheless sat on the other side.

The crackling of the fire, the gentle drumming of the rain, the rustle of pages turning, and Draco’s quiet breaths. Harry’s eyes grew soft when he sneaked a look at Draco.

This.

This was something Harry had been looking for, back in Britain. Yet, it was here. Draco was here.

*

A quiet morning eased into a quiet lunch. After lunch, Draco happily settled back into the seat to continue reading, but Harry’s arse was starting to feel numb, and his legs feeling restless.

Giving in to his urge, he set down his book and twisted his head to look through the window. A slow smile spread. It had stopped raining!

Harry immediately got up, marked his page, and decisively put his book down.

“Draco...” he started slyly.

Draco sighed and looked up. “Yes?”

“Have you ever jumped in a muddy puddle?”

Draco’s nose scrunched up. “Of course not!”

“Neither have I,” Harry admitted. “But apparently, it’s a thing kids do. My aunt and uncle never let me have fun though.”

“Well.” Draco settled back. “You’re not a child.”

“Scared of a little water? A little dirt?” Harry smirked.

Draco scoffed. “Feel free to jump in muddy puddles if _you_ want.”

“Oh, come on, Draco.” Harry looked at Draco imploringly. “Join me, please?” Harry tilted his head down, so that he peered through his eyelashes.

Draco cleared his throat and grumpily closed his book. “Alright, keep your hat on.”

Harry grinned. “I will. I’ll transfigure us some raincoats and wellies—they’re absolutely essential for jumping in muddy puddles.”

Draco looked at him in horror. “ _Wellies?_ ”

Harry smirked, leaving Draco hanging as he looped back into his room to get two of his shirts to transfigure into two bright yellow raincoats, and two pairs of socks to transfigure into equally bright wellies.

Draco appeared at the doorway of his bedroom, maintaining a horrified expression at the bright yellow things.

“Oh, just put them on,” Harry grumbled. “They’re _meant_ to look like that.”

Draco held up a hand. “I’d said nothing.”

Harry muttered wordless insults at Draco. Draco rolled his eyes and grabbed on the raincoats.

Once they were all covered in bright yellow, Harry grandly opened the door. Though it wasn’t raining, the air was heavy with water.

The grass was wet and squelchy beneath his feet. The oft-walked tracks from the front to the lean-to out back, and from the front towards the river were grass-bare, and the dirt had been turned into mud.

Harry tugged Draco out and firmly closed the door behind them.

Draco folded his arms. “What now?”

“Now, we—” Harry _stomped_ in a muddy puddle. Dirt water splashed all over his wellingtons.

“This is all lovely and all...” Draco had a peculiar expression.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Is it too hard for you to just enjoy this weather?” He took a step back to Draco and tugged him further out. Harry gave one hard stomp in the puddle, and kicked up some water at Draco for good measure.

Draco spluttered and his eyes sparked with fire. “You’ll pay for _that_.”

Harry’s grin widened. “Only if you catch me!” Harry immediately stomped across the waterlogged grounds, trying not to giggle. He turned his head around just long enough to see that Draco _had_ set off behind him—and he was gaining too.

Draco swiped at him, fingers just brushing Harry’s coat.

Harry yelped and wriggled and started to properly run, his boots squelching and mud flying and his arms ungainly spread out to try to not slip on the wet ground.

He thought too soon. With the distinct feeling of his stomach left behind, Harry slipped and fell on his arse. And he just knew that his trousers were now covered in mud, raincoat be damned.

Draco stepped forward much more cautiously, lifting and setting his feet down in exaggerated careful movements. Slowly, he smirked. “So eager to pay back yourself,” he snickered.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Gonna help me up?”

Draco put on a thoughtful look. “Should I? Or should I not?” He loomed over Harry, his lips changing from a smirk to a mischievous grin. “I think I quiet like having you below me.”

Harry growled and leapt into a tackle. Draco almost dodged, but Harry was an _Auror_ after all, and so they both went tumbling onto the wet ground. For a very brief moment, Harry had Draco pinned, then Draco twisted them over and they ended up rolling in the grass and mud.

Grunts of exertion were soon replaced with laughter—from both of them.

***

[Day 19]

The clouds were heavy the next day, but Draco proclaimed that it won’t rain, and that fishing after the rain drew in bigger fish.

Harry had shrugged. Spending a day with Draco by the riverside didn’t sound too bad. Draco let him set the line, and they sat back, waiting.

Harry peered down the river. “Have you ever followed this river? Do you know where it goes?”

Draco didn’t follow Harry’s gaze. “There’s a limit as to how far I’m allowed out.”

“Sorry—” Harry turned back to Draco, and saw the wistful look in his face. Harry pursed his lips. “Draco...how about we go anyway? I _am_ the overseeing Auror right now.”

“You wouldn’t. And your _superiors_ will undoubtedly learn about it, one way or another.”

Harry reached out and laid a hand on Draco’s arm. “But I’m _accompanying_ you. I’ll say—I’ll say that I _forced_ you to come with me.”

Draco huffed in exasperation. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard today, and you say a _lot_ of ridiculous things.”

There was a bit of a false bravado in Draco’s words, his posture, Harry realised. And that only made him more determined.

“Don’t you want to see what’s yonder? Do you hear the sound of trickling water?”

“Potter, you’re not _serious_.”

“I am,” Harry said seriously. He tugged at Draco’s arm.

Draco’s gaze dropped. “Potter...”

Harry bit his lip. He slid his hand down Draco’s arm until it gripped Draco’s hand. “Come on.”

Finally, Draco’s hand curled into Harry’s. “Fine.”

Harry’s stomach fizzled. He smiled brightly. A pink flush spread across Draco’s face and that made Harry suddenly very, _very_ shy.

Studiously turning his head forward (and avoiding Draco’s face and their hands), Harry followed the river bend.

A slowly growing sound prickled Harry’s ears, growing and growing into a roar. It was a longer walk than Harry expected—and then suddenly they cleared the trees and found themselves at the base of a waterfall.

“Did you know this was here?” Harry said loudly. He chanced a look at Draco’s face. Draco had turned to him at the same time.

“No,” Draco replied quietly—too quietly for Harry to hear above the sound of crashing water, but he knew.

“Come on, then.” They’d gone this far—they may as well continue forward.

They walked around the rocks, towards a section with a gentle and soft grassy incline that edged the river.

“The water looks good—clear. Not like the Thames,” Harry said. In fact, it looked almost inviting.

“It looks cold, but you’re welcome to jump in.”

“Does it get warm here?” Harry gazed around.

“It does during summer.”

“This would be even nicer in the summer, then,” Harry said decisively. He winced when Draco’s grip on his hand suddenly tightened. Harry turned to him, mouth open to say—but then he noticed Draco’s pinched expression.

“I’m not supposed to be _here_.” Just as sudden, Draco yanked his hand away from Harry’s. “We need to get back. I forgot about the fishing lines.”

Harry’s chest constricted. “No, I—I’m here too. They’d let you—”

Draco scowled. “They won’t.” He turned his hand back towards the trees, and his voice sounded strange. Choked. “And it’s not as though _you’d_ come back.” He took a step away from Harry.

Without conscious thought, Harry lunged forward and encircled his arms around Draco’s waist.

Draco stiffened. “Potter. What are you doing,” he said flatly.

 _In for a Knut, in for a Galleon_. Harry rested his head on the junction of Draco’s neck and shoulder. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I don’t want to deal with that attitude.” Draco’s voice turned sharp.

Harry gathered his courage, for a moment, smelling Draco. “I’ll come back,” Harry said quietly.

Slowly... _slowly_ , Draco’s hands rested on Harry’s arms. “Life moves different here. You won’t come back.”

“Draco, don’t you _trust_ me?”

“It’s not about _trust_. It’s about _reality_.”

Harry could sense the trembling in Draco’s frame, and the pit of his stomach was heavy with Draco’s unspoken vulnerabilities.

“You...you’re not the same person you were—”

“Why the fuck does that even matter?” Draco snapped. He tugged and tried to prise Harry’s arms off. With a growl, Draco spat out, “You _can’t_ ignore the person I was in the past. I was Draco Malfoy then, and I’m Draco Malfoy _now_. I’m here for my _crimes_.”

Harry remained firm. “You like me,” he said. Draco’s heartbeat immediately jumped. Before Draco could say anything, Harry continued, “I like you.”

Draco jerked, twisting in Harry’s arms until they were face to face. Draco’s face was flush pink, but his eyes were blazing. “You think that changes anything?” he said furiously. “In just over a week, you’re leaving me. _You_ are going back to dear old Britain, back to your _real_ life. I’m stuck here for _years_.” Draco’s jaw clenched. “Aurors come, Aurors go. That’s how it is.”

“If _that’s_ your attitude, maybe I shouldn’t kiss you.” Harry jutted out his own jaw stubbornly.

Draco flinched. “Then let me go. Don’t... _dangle_ your affections in front of me.”

Harry took a deep, deep breath. “I’m not going to let you go,” he said with utmost care.

Draco looked at him silently, lips curved down.

“I promise that I’ll come back. _This_ between us _is_ real.” Harry looked up at Draco imploringly. “It’s the light of day. Do you trust me?”

Draco closed his eyes, and he swayed dangerously in Harry’s arms. Then, his eyes opened and his hands rose until they caressed the sides of Harry’s face.

“You better come back, you sentimental man,” Draco muttered.

Harry’s heart soared and he kissed him.

Draco’s hands cupped Harry’s face, tugging him forward, tilting his head, and Harry could do nothing but follow. His arms loosened around Draco’s waist and he wriggled until he could knot them around Draco’s neck and shoulders. Draco kissed him harder, and Harry’s skin fizzled with Draco’s touch.

When they broke apart—when Draco withdrew their lips and pressed their foreheads together—they were both breathing heavily. Harry’s glasses were eschew, smudged and fogged up.

Their gazes met. Harry shivered.

“Let’s go back to the fishing lines,” Draco said quietly. A corner of his mouth twitched.

Harry grinned easily, and it made Draco smile a little. Harry ducked his head into the side of Draco’s neck.

“Can’t we go back to the house?” Harry let his lips buzz against Draco’s skin.

Draco moved his head and flicked Harry’s forehead. Harry winced.

“That hurt,” Harry pouted.

“First, we see if we caught anything,” Draco said deliberately. “We will see if we have time before lunch for anything else.”

“You’re such a spoilsport, Draco,” Harry moaned.

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Am I, Potter?” He tossed his hair and strode back down the river.

“Malfoy!” Harry raced after him, feeling as though he was flying.

*

“What’s all this?” Draco leaned against the doorway of the kitchen-dining-living room.

Harry had shooed Draco out an hour before dinner, citing that it was Harry’s turn on dinner duty.

To be honest, Harry wished he’d shooed Draco out even earlier. He cursed and the candle he’d just lit dropped to the floor.

“Draco! Hi!” Harry quickly bent down to pick up the candle and ended bumping himself on the edge of the table. He was so relieved that only a drop of wax hit the wooden floor, rather than the flame. “Give me a minute!”

Draco stepped in, moving towards the kitchen bench, where Harry had set out the food.

Harry hurriedly set the candle into a transfigured candle holder. “There. Draco—don’t look, you nosy prat.” He swirled his wand in the air to reduce the ambient lighting.

Draco walked towards Harry, and Harry met him halfway.

“A candle-lit dinner?” Draco said softly.

“Is it a good first date?” Harry countered.

Draco smirked. “You never asked me out on a date.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine. Draco, do you want to go on a date with me? Tonight, in the dining room?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “When I get out of here, _I’ll_ show how it’s done.”

“Looking forward to it,” Harry said easily, grinning. “So, date, or no date?”

Draco held his hand out, palm downwards. “Accepted, Potter.”

Harry took the hand and pressed a kiss into it. Draco’s eyes were half lidded when his manoeuvred their hands around so that he could kiss Harry’s hand in return.

“Have a seat.” Harry tugged Draco towards his chair. “I’ll get us the first course.”

Harry set down the first course and poured them both a mug of mango lassi.

“Any music choices?” Harry asked.

“Pleasantly surprise me,” Draco said.

So Harry swirled his wand again and produced the most fancy classical music that he knew.

Draco listened thoughtful. He took a sip of his lassi, following it with a long drink. “Colour me pleasantly surprised. I cannot believe you knew this music existed.”

Harry laughed. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

Draco smirked slowly. “Ah, that makes sense.”

“You don’t have to be so happy about that,” Harry rolled his eyes but grinned nonetheless. He startled when he felt Draco’s foot against his under the table. He quickly looked to Draco, who was looking rather innocently back, if it weren’t for the glint in his eye.

Harry pressed his lips together in effort to not smile. He shifted his foot, caressing up Draco’s shin. “How are you finding the food?” he asked mildly.

The glint in Draco’s eye sharpened. “Satisfactory,” Draco replied with a touch of haughtiness, even as Harry felt Draco’s foot creep higher.

Harry had to admit that it became a struggle at times, as what happened under the table slowly climbed higher and higher—

—Until, of course, dinner was over and it was no longer a struggle at all.


	6. Chapter 6

***

They say time flies when you’re having fun.

***

[Day 26]

Harry woke up with his body tucked in against Draco’s. Draco’s leg was flung over his, Draco’s arms pulling Harry in close and tight.

Harry wriggled—or tried to, at least. Draco’s embrace tightened.

“Draco...”

“Don’t.” Draco’s face pressed into the back of his neck, making Harry squirm.

“You’re clingy today,” Harry said lightly.

Draco suddenly tensed behind him and released Harry. “My most sincere apologies, Potter,” he said in the most insincere tone.

But Harry _knew_ Draco. He rolled around to face Draco. “Not that I mind.” Draco’s head was turned away: Harry turned it back, pressing forehead to forehead. “Are we going to spend the day in bed, or out wood chopping again?”

Draco regarded Harry silently. Harry couldn’t tell what Draco was thinking, and he was starting to get worried, when Draco pulled back and smirked, eyes promising something fun.

“I promised you a massage after your hard work yesterday.”

Worries completely forgotten, Harry smirked back. “You did.”

***

[Day 27]

“It’s almost time,” Draco said idly, leaning against the bathroom door frame.

Harry finished brushing his teeth and turned around. “For breakfast?”

Draco’s jaw tightened.

Harry winced. “You mean, before I...”

“Yes,” said Draco.

Harry smiled weakly. “I suppose.”

“You should start packing.”

Harry walked towards Draco and rested a hand on Draco’s hip. “There’s still a few days. It’ll be fine.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Fine.”

“Can you imagine me being responsible enough to start packing a few days beforehand?” Harry grinned. “You mistake me for Hermione.”

Draco rolled his eyes and elbowed Harry. “Point taken.”

Harry grunted. “That hurt, pointy.” Harry’s stomach took the inopportune moment to grumble. “It is time for breakfast, right?” he asked sheepishly.

Draco pinched his nose. “Come on, then.”

***

[Day 28]

Draco went to bed first, unspoken between them that Harry had to write his fourth week report. More than just a summary of Draco’s behaviour, Harry made sure to write recommendations for the change of Draco’s exile terms. It made him feel a bit better, better than the churning in his stomach that was appearing more and more often.

When Harry slipped into the bedroom—Draco’s room—Draco was still awake, reading by candle light.

“Hey, Malfoy.”

Draco silently put away his book.

Harry pulled Draco to a lying position and wandlessly turned off the candle. “Hey,” he repeated, more quietly.

“Couldn’t you have taken a little longer? I wanted to finish that,” Draco muttered, even as he drew Harry nearer and tangled their legs.

“I _told_ you it’s yours, I’m leaving it here.”

“A good book _demands_ to be read,” Draco retorted.

Harry laughed. He hummed and leaned in for a kiss. Draco kissed him lightly back. Harry was about to withdraw when Draco’s arms tightened around him, pulling him closer and kissing him fiercely.

Harry held back just as tightly.

***

[Day 29]

It had to be luck that Harry’s last night was clear, the air uncharacteristically warm. Draco had his back to Harry, poking at the campfire, when Harry emerged with their dinner floating obediently behind him.

For a moment, Harry had a sense of déjà vu, but when Draco turned around, it wasn’t with empty eyes but a smirk.

“A missed opportunity to cook our food over the fire,” Draco drawled as he settled down next to Harry with his plate.

“Real men use a perfectly good kitchen,” Harry grinned. “Anyway, we have _heaps_ of opportunities in the future. Isn’t Malfoy Manor big and grand?”

“It is.” Draco wasn’t looking at Harry, but at the flames and the forest beyond. “The grounds include a forest with wild animals, and in the long ago days, also included farmlands.”

“Malfoys _farming_?” Harry said incredulously. “I can’t imagine it.”

Draco nudged Harry sharply. “We _hired_ workers.”

Harry took a bite of his food. “Sure you did,” he mumbled around his full mouth.

“Harry _Potter_ , don’t speak with your mouth full,” said Draco.

“You sound like Molly Weasley,” Harry shot back.

Draco widened his eyes exaggeratedly. “Merlin forbid, you have a mother complex?”

Harry nudged Draco sharply. “ _Oy_.”

Draco grinned back, but they settled down to silence as they ate their last dinner for what could be a long while.

Harry couldn’t help but feel time had slipped away from him, like water between his fingers—

—It felt like _yesterday_ that they completed the wood shed, that was now a shadow against the trees.

—It felt like _yesterday_ that they had kissed by the waterfall, the thundering of water Harry fancied he could hear even from here.

—It felt like _yesterday_ that Harry had flown into this little clearing, had seen Draco again for the first time in years.

Harry glanced at Draco now: did he look any different from almost a month ago? Were Draco’s shoulders broader now? Were his eyes brighter now?

In fact...it felt like yesterday that they had both been school boys at Hogwarts, fighting in the corridors.

It had been a decade, more or less, since Harry met Draco. Harry found himself staring at Draco’s profile, with the sudden, sharp fear that he’d forget what Draco looked like.

Under his gaze, Draco turned, eyebrow cocked. “Admiring something?”

Harry forced a smile. “Yeah,” he said, but even he could tell that Draco could tell that his smile was off. “I was wondering if you were actually French.”

Draco straightened. “That's a long history lesson,” he said, “so listen closely...”

And Harry let him speak, because they both needed the distraction from what was coming next.

***

[Day 30]

The sky was just starting to lighten outside the window when Harry smelt something wonderful—and his stomach rumbled.

Draco had a pile of pancakes, and another in the pan. Harry smiled to himself, and took out another plate, the jam, and some cream he’d left under a preservation charm in the cupboard.

They ate, they chatted, they washed the dishes together.

It was unspoken that they went about differently: Harry packed what meagre things he wanted to take with him, and Draco cleaned the cabin.

Harry had finished quickly, too quickly, and laid down in the Auror’s bedroom’s bed, trying his best not to _feel_.

At the sound of Draco’s footsteps coming closer, Harry turned his head.

“Done?” Draco said.

Harry gave Draco a wistful smile. “I wish I’d brought a wizarding camera.”

“Whatever _for_?”

“So that—well, we’d have a picture of when we first got together.”

Draco scoffed. “I don’t think that’s a story to be told across tea.”

Harry laughed forcefully. “Who knows? _I_ think it is. There are a lot of people we need to tell, after all.”

Draco’s jaw tightened. “Indeed.”

Harry smiled wryly back and got off from the bed, neatening it out again with a flick of his wand. “Lunch?” He took hold of Draco’s hand, and they made lunch together.

*

Lunch was quiet.

It was a different quiet from those first days. It was strained waiting; it was a heavy quiet.

After clearing up, they walked a slow loop around the cabin and clearing.

Harry’s heart beat faster as he noticed the progression of the sun in the sky. He had to say it, he had to—“I have to go now.”

Draco’s gripped tightened, then relaxed. After a silence, he said, “Yes.”

Harry tugged him closer and kissed him. Draco’s return kiss was light and barely there.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Harry said firmly, stepping away.

Draco grinned sharply. “The day Harry Potter breaks a promise is the day the world ends.”

Harry chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah.”

He unshrunk the broom from his pockets. The ground was grassy and soft as Harry lifted off: and in the motion, he couldn’t tell what Draco’s expression was.

All too soon, Draco’s features blurred as Harry reached the top of the trees, then higher. The cabin was nearly a toy house in a rare open clearing of a great forest.

“I’m not saying goodbye!” he yelled down suddenly. “See you later, Draco!”

“You’re an idiot, Potter!” was the return shout.

Heart bursting and chest tightening, Harry gave one last look and headed towards the outlying observation station from where he could Apparate, and then take a portkey, back to England.

And away from Draco.


	7. Chapter 7

***

[Months Later]

Harry finally arrived—or rather, finally returned.

It was different.

When he had first come to the forest, months ago, it had been approaching winter. Now though, the worst of the winter had passed and the air was warm. Despite himself, he idled at the front door, unsure of what to do. Finally, he knocked, but it swung open.

“Draco?” Harry called out. There was no reply. He quickly checked all the rooms—the place was empty. The cabin felt familiar, but slightly different. Objects moved around, new objects and missing ones. Harry dumped some of his stuff in his old room and set about making dinner.

He was whistling to himself as he checked the roast when he heard the sound of the door opening and achingly familiar foot steps. Heart thudding uncharacteristically loud in his chest, Harry turned around, a hopeful smile spreading on his face.

Draco stood there, frozen by the doorway. After a too long moment, his eyes flickered away from Harry to the food behind him.

“Draco—”

Draco made an aborted sound. He turned sharply and walked out.

“Draco!” Harry immediately set after him in time to see Draco’s bedroom door close. “Draco!” He tried the door and it opened. Draco was standing by the window, his back turned.

“Draco, hey,” Harry said softly. He took a few steps in. “Draco. I’m back, obviously.” He tried a light chuckle, but it was weak, and only served to make Draco tense up. Harry swallowed, his hands aching to reach out, to smooth those muscles. “Are you...angry? I know that it’s been a while, you know I...right?”

When Draco didn’t respond, Harry took a gamble and stepped closer, touching him lightly on the arm.

Draco turned, shifting away from Harry’s touch. “Let’s go have dinner,” he said, voice much too empty.

Harry’s hand dropped; he forced them to stay by his side. “Alright.” He followed Draco to the kitchen. In a tense silence, Draco set the table and Harry plated the food.

They also ate in silence.

Harry tensed his hands and then suddenly dropped his knife and fork down on the plate with a loud clatter. Draco’s eyes flickered up.

“Draco, how are you?” Harry said forcefully.

“I’m fine,” was Draco’s bland reply.

“Are you really? Why haven’t you actually _said_ anything, then?” When Draco didn’t immediately reply, Harry pushed out his chair. “Do you even _want_ me here?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Forgive me, it’s not everyday one returns and finds Harry Potter in their kitchen.”

Harry stood up and leaned across the table. “But that’s not all,” he pressed. “I—” Harry ran a nervous hand through his hair. “I missed you,” he said earnestly.

“You walk back half a year later and expected _what?_ That I welcome you with open arms?”

“I came back! I said I would, and I _did_. I _am_. Kingsley wouldn’t let me come back earlier—”

“Fine. You’re back. A promise kept, the world unended,” Draco retorted. He stood up too, making his way to the door.

Harry grabbed his arm. “What? Draco, _Draco_. I’m _here_. Not for long—”

Draco shot him a dark look. “Leaving again? Do us both a favour and—”

“Because _we are both leaving!_ ” Harry shouted. “We’re going back to England. You’re going for a bloody _parole hearing._ ”

“ _Pardon?_ ” Draco’s eyebrows drew together. He grabbed Harry’s other arm. “I’m leaving? How?”

Harry sucked in a deep breath. “Ah—about what?”

Draco’s eyes roved over Harry’s face, and his expression set into a scowl. “You better not be joking, Potter.”

“I’m not,” Harry leaned forward a little and squeezed Draco’s arm gently. “You have a parole hearing in a week. And I contacted your mum and dad too, and I have letters from them. Oh, and you have an official summons for your parole hearing. And I couldn’t get in touch with your school friends but—” Harry clamped his mouth shut when he realised that he was babbling.

Draco’s eyes widened. “You—”

“Yes?” said Harry hopefully.

“You’re such a _saint_ , Potter.” Draco looked away. “A damn _saint_.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m as human as you are,” Harry quirked his lips. He tried to act natural, all the while aware of how close, yet how far, Draco was from him. Despite half expecting it to happen, he felt a keen sense of loss when Draco took half a step back.

“The letters?”

“I have them in my luggage somewhere. Do you—do you want me to get it now? Or can we finish dinner first?”

Draco shrugged. “Let us finish dinner, then.”

Harry mimicked Draco’s lightness. “Alright.”

*

Harry felt that it was too forward for him to slip into Draco’s bed, so he didn’t.

In those next few days, Harry gave Draco space to pack anything he wanted before they left.

If Harry had to place how it felt between them in those days, if an outsider was looking in, then it was like that second week he was there. They talked: there was a friendliness, and a routine they slipped back into quickly.

However, from Harry’s point of view, he _knew_ that he stared at Draco a bit too long, catching himself watching Draco do miscellaneous things for longer than socially acceptable. In the months intervening, Harry had built up scenarios and dreams and _fantasies_ of what would happen when he finally, finally returned for Draco. That there was this _emotional_ distance between them was almost unnerving, and frustrating.

Maybe they had broken up unofficially when he left, Harry had thought uncountably many times. Maybe they had to officially get back together again. Maybe it was because the time and the separation was too much for their relationship. Maybe Draco believed he had better prospects now. Maybe Draco was cautious. Maybe Draco was focused on his upcoming parole hearing.

Thoughts that Harry had, on repeat, as he unwittingly watched Draco, eyes tracing and retracing a jawline, a shoulder, a curl of hair.

Harry imagined what he _should_ do before they left the privacy of the cabin—that he should approach Draco, and say, _Draco, we need to talk. About us_.

But he didn’t. It just never felt right; and then it was time to leave.

*

It was a warm morning when Harry walked out with Draco onto the grassy space outside the cabin. All their things, their luggage, had been shrunk away and placed in Harry’s possession. Harry unshrunk the broom and turned to Draco.

“Got everything?”

Draco nodded.

Harry let out a breath. “Okay. I just need to cast a chain spell between us, if you can hold out your wrist. It’s the best I can do, given that officially, you’re still—”

“Do it,” Draco said brusquely, lifting his arm.

Harry nodded shortly and cast the spell that meant Draco had to stay within a few metres of Harry.

“Thanks. You remember how to fly, I hope? You’ll have to mount on behind me.”

“I gathered.”

“Right.” Harry berated himself, though for what, he didn’t know.

Nonetheless, they both got onto the broom without trouble, and very soon, the ground was dropping away from them.

Draco’s arms were loose around Harry’s waist, and his body just close enough to Harry’s back that he fancied he could feel Draco’s body heat.

Harry turned his head around a little. “You alright back there?” he shouted over the wind. He shivered despite himself when Draco leaned in closer to reply.

“Obviously. I was a seeker too,” Draco said back into Harry’s ear.

Harry twisted his head around to speak, feeling the faintest brush of Draco’s lips against his ear. “Then you don’t mind if I ramp up the speed, do you?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

Harry grinned, and the broom thrummed beneath them as Harry revved up the speed. Draco’s grip tightened around Harry’s waist, pressing himself flush against Harry’s back.

“You can do better than _that_ ,” Draco goaded.

Harry’s grin widened and sent them into a spontaneous loop-the-loop, over the blanket of green below them.

*

They were sombre again when they reached the outlying observation station. There wasn’t anyone there, but they took the time to have lunch. Harry put on his Auror robes, and then apparated them to the nearest portkey point.

There were official personnel there, and Harry accepted the relevant international portkey: it was a little bird token.

“When we get to London, we’ll be met with other Aurors and taken to one of the Ministry cells,” Harry warned Draco quietly.

Draco nodded shortly.

Harry continued, “Because of the time difference, your hearing will be held on the same day, in a few hours, so you won’t be there long. I’ll be at the parole hearing, but I won’t be on the board. Kingsley—Minister for Magic—will be there, as well as some of the Aurors that had supervised you in the past. I don’t quite know what will happen, I think you’ll be placed in the Ministry cells after for a while, regardless of the outcome—I think it’ll be fine,” Harry quickly added, “—and there’ll probably be some conditions, like a tracking spell for a few years, and there might be community service, but I think—I think it’ll all be fine.”

Draco grimaced. “I suspect so.”

Harry glanced as the little portkey in his hand. “Are you ready?”

“I am.”

Harry nodded, and held out the portkey. Draco’s hand took Harry’s, their palms pressing the portkey between them, their fingers entwined.

In a swirl of colour, they returned. Other Aurors intercepted, and the moment their hands let go, Draco was whisked away from Harry.

***

[Weeks later]

It was a Saturday. Harry sat on his sofa, alternating between staring at an empty fireplace and a sunny window.

The first week when Draco came back had been hectic, no doubt especially hectic for Draco as he resettled back into society. Harry had lingered at the edges, but even Hermione had more contact with Draco than Harry did, given her role in securing Draco’s parole hearing in the first place.

When Harry had returned from his first month at Draco’s cabin, Hermione had been initially sceptical. That it was living at close quarters with Draco made him feel that way. And at his lowest points, he began to almost believe that it had been a dream.

But it wasn’t, and eventually Hermione came onto his side. Draco couldn’t be simply released, but she could get him back to Britain under conditions—and she did. And Merlin, Harry owed her a tonne, when she worked with Draco for his parole hearing, and its aftermath. Harry couldn’t be part of the proceedings of the parole hearing—he would have been biased. But in the aftermath, he just...couldn’t bring himself to approach Draco.

And now it was weeks later, and the lack of contact with Draco was starting to make Harry feel uncomfortable.

Indecision riddled him. In a burst of impulsiveness, he got up from the sofa and quickly penned a letter to Draco, asking if he wanted to meet up, including his address, and had it sent off with his owl before he could stop himself.

And then he regretted his actions as he watched the owl fly away and went to putter and patter around the kitchen anxiously, attempting to tidy it up before ultimately making a cup of tea.

The owl came back through the kitchen window, empty clawed. Harry’s face fell, and he went back to sit on his sofa, staring blankly at the empty fireplace. He half hoped Hermione would floo in and get him to do _something_ , instead of this aimlessness. Harry hadn’t anything to do on a Saturday: there was no Auror work to be done, no Sunday dinner at the Weasleys to prepare for and attend.

He jolted when his fireplace burst alight with green flames. He quickly sat up and tried to look like he hadn’t been sitting aimlessly so that Hermione wouldn’t make him do something, except—

Except it wasn’t Hermione.

It was Draco.

With a gasp, Harry scrambled to feet. “You’re here!”

Draco brushed off invisible soot from his clothes. “Glad to see your eyes working.”

Harry took a step forward. “How—how have you been?”

Draco took a step closer to match. “Well. As it pains me to say it, this has been due to you.”

Harry felt a smile grow on his face. “You don’t look very pained.”

Draco placed a hand over his heart. “It pains me deep inside, I assure you.”

“It wasn’t all me,” Harry said, looking down and scuffing his feet.

Draco took another step closer, his shoes coming into Harry’s field of view. A hand grasped Harry’s chin, lifting his head up. Draco’s eyes were closer than he had expected, grey and intense.

“No, it wasn’t all you. But it started with you,” Draco said softly.

Harry’s lips parted with a small breath.

“Life moves different back there. I...”

Harry gave a breathless chuckle. “Don’t tell me Draco Malfoy has been rendered speechless.”

Draco glared at him. “You ruined my speech.”

Harry grinned. “I live to ruin your plans.” He lifted a hand and rested it in Draco’s chest. “You were saying?”

Draco’s face became serious. “We can’t have exactly what we had back in the forest.”

Harry’s stomach swooped down. “But...but we can—”

“—we can make something a little different,” Draco said, bringing their faces even closer.

“Have you thought of a job that’s not wood chopping?” Harry asked very seriously.

Draco stopped and looked at him. “The Manor grounds _do_ contain woodland. Wood chopping is not _off_ the cards—”

“Oh. Let’s get back to what we were doing just before,” Harry suggested quickly.

Draco made a humming sound. He tilted Harry’s head up a little more and kissed him.

“Took you long enough,” Harry grumbled once their lips parted.

Draco scowled. “I stand by what I said. I hadn’t expected you to walk back in months later.”

“What happened while I was gone?” Harry asked.

“What happened while you were gone?” Draco countered.

“We should make a campfire. All our best heart-to-hearts were done while toasting marshmallows,” Harry suggested.

“Where _does_ one acquire marshmallows?”

Harry grinned. “Let me get my muggle wallet and we can go right now. You’ll have to take off your robes, though.”

A smirk grew on Draco’s face. “You’ll have to take them off for me.”

Harry laughed. “At your command, Draco.”

It took Harry some effort to wrestle Draco out of his complicated robes; and more effort to wrestle him into some muggle-appropriate wear. It would have gone a lot faster if Draco hadn’t criticised the entirety of Harry’s wardrobe.

Finally, they made it out the front door.

Draco gave one look at the front garden and shuddered. “Even untamed wilderness is more beautiful than this.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah? Can we go to the shops now?”

Draco tilted his head. “Lead the way.”

Harry grabbed Draco’s hand first. “So you don’t get lost,” he justified, and together, they walked into the British sunlight.

  


***

_The End._

***


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